Run, Like You Always Have
by MelodyPond123
Summary: Alternate Timeline Dr. Who crossover for Supernatural season 10. Sam is futilely searching for Dean, when he runs into The Eleventh Doctor, who offers him help in finding his missing brother. When their paths cross, though, things spin wildly out of control. Sequel to Not Just A Box.
1. Chapter 1

Sam turned suddenly, the EMF detector in his hand pulsating with the burst of wind that rippled through his hair. Its needle twitched in a distinct rhythm, a pattern of activity he'd seen only once before-

Was it? But… It couldn't be…

The screeching, grinding noise started, and a large blue box pulsated in and out of existence for a moment, before solidifying, landing, in the middle of the yard.

Oh, yes. It was him. It had to be.

The door of the Police Box opened slowly, creaking, as two figures stepped out.

Sam shone his flashlight at the Time Lord, who had emerged first.

"Hey, Doctor," Sam called, tiredness bleeding through his excitement.

"Hello, Sam!" The Doctor returned his greeting. "You should meet my friend," he continued, as his companion stepped forward into the beam of the flashlight, a man with a goatee and a face Sam would have known anywhere. He grabbed his gun.

" What the hell are you doing with Crowley?" Sam shouted, pointing his shotgun at the Time Lord and the shorter man beside him.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Replied Crowley, looking panicked.

"Sam, please, put the gun down. This isn't your Crowley demon fellow, this is Canton Everet Deleware III."

"I don't…Alright. I'll put the gun down, if he can prove he's who he says he is." Sam pulled a spray can out of his backpack, still training the gun on the pair, as he began to draw on the ground with a sputtering stream of paint.

"What? What the hell are you doing?" The Supposedly-Not-Crowley replied.

"The real Crowley couldn't step out of this. So to prove it you're going to walk through it. If you don't, then you're mine." He explained, walking back and forth as he drew the intricate star shape of the trap.

"I wish you'd listen. This is entirely unnecessary. This man is _not_ your Crowley." The Doctor exhorted.

"I'll believe you if he proves himself," Sam replied grimly, as he finished the painting. The can rattled as he capped it and threw it into his backpack.

"Go on then, I'm waiting." He prodded Supposedly-Not-Crowley, gesturing toward the trap with his gun.

The man sighed, "I still don't see what this will prove," as he strode forward.

Sam expected to see him flinch, or stop, or destroy the trap by inducing an earthquake with is powers or…anything, anything other than strand himself intentionally in the trap.

His eyes widened as he saw the man step over the line into it. "No," he muttered.

"What?" The man replied, taking a few more steps, and….

"No! I don't know what you're doing, but—"

"But what? Are you that crazy you really believe some voodoo symbols actually have power?" The man asked, raising his arms in a gesture of exasperation where he stood, now outside the trap.

Sam scoffed, staring silently at the man.

"Actually, Canton, in different universes, the laws of physics diverge from those you are accustomed to in your reality. It is entirely possible that here a symbols hold untold powers. Sam would be much more knowledgable in that regard than you or even I." The Doctor chimed in.

"You…What did you say your name was again?" Sam asked slowly, shaking his head.

"Name's Canton." the man replied sharply. "And I'd greatly appreciate it if you quit looking for excuses to shoot me. I'm not whoever or whatever you think I am, clearly."

"Sam, as I've been trying to tell you, he is Canton Everret Deleware III from the White House, serving currently…or, rather, not so currently, under President Nixon. He's on a trip with me, you see, as he has been an invaluable help in fighting some of my greatest enemies."

"Seriously, you're from the Nixon Administration?" Sam asked, slowly lowering his gun.

"Yes, although not your Nixon Administration. Different Nixon. Different White House, different universe," Canton replied, extending a hand to Sam, who after pausing a moment, returned the handshake.

"Okay. So, Canton. Look, I'm, uh, sorry I guess about thinking you were Crowley. He's a real piece of work, someone I've been hunting for a while now."

"Hunting?" Canton replied, his expression changing to a mixture of intrigue and concern.

"Yeah, uh…long story."

"Sam, a bit like you and me, protects humanity from those that threaten it. Although I don't rather like that term, hunting, it's what he calls it." The Doctor explained.

"Those that threaten it? Like this Crowley you took me for?" Canton probed.

"Yeah, especially Crowley. And…." He trailed off for a moment. "Look, it's too much to explain. I…can't. I'm busy. And it's good to see you," he continued, wearily, "But I have to keep working."

"Well, what were you working on?" Canton asked.

"I've been investigating a murder, but…whatever did it seems to have moved on. Disappeared. I'll have to keep trying to track it."

"Tracking is all very well, but you do realize you're standing in front of a time machine? Why not just go back to catch the creature beforehand?"

"Canton, you're quite bright. I did promise him a favor once. Perhaps now would be a time to extend the offer once again, provided you're alright with traveling together."

"As long as he cuts out the crazy, we should be OK," Canton assented.

"Well then! Sam, where would you like to go?"

"There's nothing here. This crap isn't worth the time. But… I have something I need to do." He replied, his voice steely with resolve.

"What would that be?"

"You can go anywhere and any time you want, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Can we have a minute?" Sam asked, motioning to Canton.

Canton nodded, shrugging, and retreated into the Tardis, leaving the two to talk in private.

"So, what's the need for privacy? What are we going to talk about?" The Doctor asked, his eyes gleaming in excitement.

Sam's face fell, the toll of the past weeks showing clearly in his expression as he ran a hand through his hair, before speaking.

His reply was simple, his voice tired, hollow and grim.

"I need you to take me to my brother."


	2. Chapter 2

"Fine. When did you last see him?"

"It was in May, we were in the bunker, when he-he was dead, from fighting Metatron. I lay him out on his bed, and went to summon Crowley. I came back to his room and—he was gone. Just—just gone."

"Well, that's quite odd. Tell me more. Who is this you were fighting, and who is Crowley to you, exactly?"

Sam sighed. "Metatron. He's an angel who….ugh. This is going to take a while. I don't….I don't have time for this."

"You do realize I'm telephatic, Sam?" The Doctor asked.

"Oh, hell no," Sam said, cringing.

"Whatever's the matter?" He had a concerned tone.

"I….No. Last time…well, just, no. I can't do that again. I'd be useless to find him." He clenched his fists.

"Do what again?"

"Last time I had telepathy, I was turning myself into a demon. I can't do that again. I _have_ to stay human this time."

"I understand that whatever happened to you last time was awful, but rest assured, my form of telepathy is nothing like that whatsoever. I'll try to be delicate, my consciousness is infinitely large compared to a human's, but I believe we can do this fairly easily. I will mostly be looking at your memories, but you may find some of mine seep into your consciousness in return. Take my hands."

Sam looked at the Doctor's outstretched hands, hesitating momentarily before taking them. "Fine. But…just…get it over with." He braced for what the onslaught, but found his mind floating off into an abyss of incredible sights. A star turned into a supernova before his eyes, nebulas explosively spawned new stars, galaxies whirled by, strange creatures spoke, metallic dome-like creatures screamed, legions of robots advanced, a blond woman stood with him on a beach, hugging him, dinosaurs roamed, countless humans stood in moments of defeat and victory, another woman with curly hair smiled at him cheekily, civilizations rose and fell, and— he felt something jerk him back, back toward reality.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again a few times as he adjusted to the shock.

"Sam?" The Doctor said.

"Wh-what? That was incredible." His voice was filled with wonder.

"Yes, I know. As I said before, my mind is quite expansive. I've seen much of my universe and some of the next. But your problem with your brother, I believe we need to address that."

"Yeah." Sam grunted, the grim resolve returning to him as the mental expanse of fantastical wonders faded. "I have to find him."

"What would you like to do?" The Doctor smiled, an infinitely old, knowing smile.

"You'd said we can't cross our own timelines. But we can do anything else, yeah?"

"Within reason," The Doctor replied.

"Is there a way we could track him?" Sam asked.

"Perhaps. The Tardis is psychic. If I could find a way to project your consciousness into her navigation controls, she might be able to zero in on his position in the presence via her tracking and psychic link systems."

"Her what?"

"May I show you?" He extended his hands again, which Sam took.

"Fine."

He saw the interior of the Tardis; there appeared a disheveled woman in a blue ragged dress, smiling, nodding, fading, whispering something to him. There was the same blond woman as before, her eyes glowing, a strange dome-like creature turning to dust, she kissed him and power surged through, burning, so that he could feel destroying every cell in his body, yet everything all at once sat in his mind, the infinite posiblities, the totality of all universes, the sum of everything that ever was, ever would or could be, and everything that must not be—he felt the same tug, and reality returned to his senses.

"Do you understand now?" The Doctor asked.

"I think so. It—the Tardis—_she—_she's alive. She's locked inside that…machine…thing. In that blue box. You're saying you could set up a way for me to communicate with her, and she could use….whatever that is….that…infiniteness she sees to find Dean."

"Precisely," The Doctor replied, smiling.

"You can do that, though?"

"I believe so." He nodded. "That infinite potential I showed you is called the Untempred Schism. It lies at the heart of the Tardis. She travels through it, taking me where I need to go."

"So…you don't…just fly her like a plane or whatever?"

"No. She's conscious, living. I travel with her as much as in her. Sometimes she takes me places else I didn't mean to go, but where I needed to. She just knows."

"Who was the woman I saw?"

"Which woman?"

"The blond woman who kissed you-me-you know. With the glowing eyes."

"She looked into the heart of the Tardis. Her name was Rose—but it—that's not important. We have work to do, don't we?" He motioned toward the police box, smirking ever so slightly as he snapped his fingers. The doors swung open and they entered.

"Well, that didn't take too long," Canton called from where he sat before the center console.

"No, it didn't," Sam said. "Look, sorry about that earlier. I can't be too careful with who I'm fighting."

"Ah, it's not a problem. I'd have done the same if I was fighting something as dangerous as whatever you are dealing with," Canton returned. "So, what's the deal? Are you traveling with us now?"

"Yes, I'm afraid we've had a slight change of plans," The Doctor said, stepping up toward the console, flicking a few switches. "Sam needs our help at the moment. I hope you don't mind the side trip."

"Wherever we go's alright by me," Canton nodded.

"Brilliant. Right then," The Doctor said, going down a set of steps toward a hallway.

"Wait," Sam called.

"What?" He asked, turning to wait a moment.

"Where are you going?! I thought you were going to hook me up to the ship's consciousness."


	3. Chapter 3

"To get matterials!"

"Fine. Fine. Just…hurry. Please." He ran his hands through his hair, the past months' frustration seeping back to him.

"You do realize you're standing in a time machine?" Canton asked.

"And?" He replied as he moved to sit down on a chair before the console, his voice was edged in terseness.

"Hurry is pointless. You can go whenever and wherever you desire." Canton said.

"Yeah. True enough. I just…I'm not used to having that kind of time." He explained. "And, god, I know you can't help it, but sitting here talking to you is so incredibly strange. I mean, usually the guy I know who looks like you would be trying to manipulate me or kill me. Or I him."

"'m not the man you think I am, though. Perhaps you'd like to get to know me to prove the point."

"Sure, whatever." He said, crossing his arms as he glared at the floor.

"No, really. It won't do to go into some situation with you still believing, albeit subconsciously, that you need to kill me. Go on then. Ask me something."

"Fine. How old are you?"

"I'm thirty seven. Easy, yeah?"

"Whatever." He said, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Where are you from, exactly?"

"I was born in England, but grew up here in the states. My mum was a teacher, and my dad was an accountant."

Sam scoffed. "And how exactly did you come to meet the time traveling alien?"

"Yes, the Doctor. I was serving President Nixon as security when he and his friends stumbled into the oval office. They were about to kill him when he shouted 'River, make her blue again' and his giant blue box appeared in the middle of the floor. Everyone else still wanted to shoot, but I persuaded the president to give him a chance. After that it was all we could do to try to fight the real evil, the Silence."

"Silence?"

"Ugly gray beastly alien creatures. They have mental powers that erase your memory of seeing them, yet leave hypnotic suggestion so that you do whatever they bid without ever realizing it. Anyway, with the help of NASA, he hijacked a broadcast of Niel Armstrong, and finally got the jump on them. I imagine they're all about killed off by now." Stanton recounted.

"So…you were really from the Nixon era?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"What about Watergate?"

"What? Do you mean the building?"

"You don't….wow. Historical continuity…. Ok, forget I said anything."

"Fine by me." Sam looked off to the side, making an incredulous face. Time travel just screws everything up, he realized.

"Well!" The Doctor shouted as he came back up the steps. "I think I've got it!"

"Got what?" Sam asked, rising to meet him.

"The matterials!"

"I don't….all you've got here is junk," Sam said questioningly, picking up a colander-like contraption from a box the Doctor carried.

"Hey! Careful. That's the psychic interface link. We'll be needing that shortly. But, in the meantime, I want you to focus on what we're heading for. I need you to choose a memory of your brother so that the Tardis can hone in on his presence in the near future to take us to him. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I think I can," Sam replied, swallowing hard as if it would help ease the tightness in his throat.

"Good then. You, go sit down. Canton, come help me with this."

Sam nodded silently, pacing back over to the seat he'd been in before while the Doctor and Canton fussed about banging things and rifling through the boxes of junk he'd brought up with him from wherever the coridoor went.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean, he thought. I have to focus on Dean….

So many memories flashed before him. Dean, in a million moments and a million instances. Holding him when they were little while their dad was away on a hunt at night, wrestling as gawky teens, however many thousands of miles sitting in the Impala hurtling away over the pavement over roads, listening to old music and eating bad diner food, Dean, going on about pie, them and Bobby poring over books of research, Dean showing up when he first appeared back from Hell, seeing Dean's face as he was fighting against Lucifer to avoid killing his brother….and finally, out of all of those innumerable moments, one settled and sat in his mind, painfully blotting out the rest. Dean, bloodied and flaccid in his arms. Dead….

Hard lines formed around his nose as he cringed at the memory, which had seared itself into his brain, the sickening gravity of it every bit as vivid now as it had been months ago. He sniffed, his face burning, feeling as if his gut had been ripped out through his throat.

"I…I think I'm ready," he said hoarsely.

"Good then. I think we are too," The Doctor replied.

"Come on then, over here. Sit here, yes—" The Doctor motioned to a strange chair with electrode pads and all manner of gadgetry built into it which he and Stanton had somehow assembled into the console.

Sam slid into the seat, his expression grim.

"I know, Sam. Just hold onto that. We need it. You need it. So that she can hone in on his presence. Just hold onto that memory a little longer."

The Doctor began strapping strange devices onto him—electrode pads of some sort went on his fingers, another on his chest under his shirt, and the absurd colander-shaped helmet went on his head, which he now saw contained a variety of electrode contacts, little flashing indicator lights and diodes.

"You…might want to know," the Doctor said slowly, "It may burn a bit."

"Whatever. Just do it." He muttered, gritting his teeth.

"Alright then. Geronimo," The Doctor breathed, throwing a switch.

With it came a blinding flash of light that seared its way into the depths of his being. And there was presence, of a woman, a voice, that echoed into his thoughts. A disheveled woman in ragged blue.

"Who are you," she asked.

"Sam."

"What are you doing in my inner sanctum?" She probed, her eyes burning golden with unfathomable power.

"Oh, god. Don't do that," Sam said, wincing.

"What?" The woman asked.

"That. It—it usually means bad things," Sam replied.

"Bad things?" She asked, reaching out toward him.

He moved back, away from her reach.

"What the hell are you?" He shuddered, feeling the waves of power she radiated.

" I am many things. I am the Heart of the Tardis. I see the turn of the universe, its birth and its death. I have basked in the light of a billion billion stars, and I have seen their ends. I am the space-time vortex, the Untempered Schism. I am the Bad Wolf."

"Bad Wolf?"

"Yes. I am the Bad Wolf. But who are you, and why have you come to me, Sam?" She asked, lifting his chin with her fingertips. The touch sent an icy yet boiling chill through him.

"I'm Sam Winchester," he said without meaning to. "I came here looking for help to find my brother. But the Doctor, he said you could help. I think that's how I got here."

"Yes, of course, Sammuel," the woman said. "It only makes sense he'd send you to me. My Doctor. Very well. Show me who you seek."

She reached out again, this time putting her hand on his forehead. He allowed her to do so this time, shuddering violently as the searing energy of her consciousness pierced his.

Dean. Dean, now a demon. Dean. Covered in blood, limp in his arms, dead….

He felt the intensity of it grow until he thought his mind itself would burst from the pressure of the memory and the violence of the power coursing through him from the woman.

Just as he was sure he was going to die, he experienced an overwhelming explosion of energy, his vision burning gold like the woman's eyes, his body shaking uncontrollably as he hurtled away through empty space—

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" Someone was shouting in his ear, yet their voice seemed so small and far away.

"Sam!" Someone was shaking him, a warbling sound passing his ears.

"Wake up!"

His vision faded from black to dark violet, then the speckled orange-brown of the back of his own eyelids. He peeled his eyes open slowly, scrambling to make sense of surroundings.

Oh, him again, he realized, dazed. The Doctor stood in front of him, shouting something nearly unintelligible, holding the same strange device that he now vaguely recalled had been on his head.

"Sam! It's worked. She got what she needed from your memory. She's taking us somewhere," he heard the man say.

"Wh—" he moaned. "It worked!" The Doctor exclaimed again.

"It did? Oh, thank god," he muttered, cradling his forehead in his hands as if to dull the pounding.

"Yes, it did. We're nearly there now," The Doctor replied.

Sam groaned an unintelligible reply, sinking exhausted back into his seat.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor smiled quietly, not replying so as to let him sleep. He stepped aside moving to the console, where Canton sat, impassive.

"So. What are we going to do for now?" Canton asked.

"I'm going to get her to delay our landing a bit. It must have taken a lot out of him, the psychic interface and whatnot." With this, he threw a few switches on the console, setting the Tardis adrift in the vortex for a while so that Sam could recover.

The next thing Sam was aware of was the awful pain in his head. It throbbed like a bad hangover and a concussion put together. He sat up a bit, opening his eyes slowly.

"Where the heck am I?" He asked himself as he came to.

"Hello! Good to see, you're waking up." An overly excited man appeared in his vision.

Oh, yeah, him. He'd fallen asleep….in the Tardis, he guessed.

"So….what happened?" Sam questioned the Doctor.

"You don't remember?" He whipped out his sonic, the pulsing sound it made as he ran a scan grated at Sam's nerves like salt into a wound.

"Augh, my head! Stop making that noise," he muttered, cringing.

"Sorry. But it appears there's something going on with your head," The Doctor replied.

"What do you mean?" Sam sat up now, trying to stand.

"Wait a moment," The Doctor cautioned, but Sam ignored him, standing anyway. He faltered a bit, stumbling. "I was going to say, the psychic link appears to have taken a toll on your nervous system."

"What?" Sam snapped, steadying himself against the edge of the console.

"You really don't remember?" The Doctor now began to sound concerned.

"No. I don't. I mean, I remember you were going to….oh. Oh. The woman, called herself the, uh, the _Bad Wolf_. So what, that was all in my head?" He asked, realization showing in his face.

"Yes, I suppose you experienced the exchange as a sort of daydream. Anyway, the good news is, since you seem capable of remembering it, and your balance is improving, it appears it was just a momentary sapping of your neural capabilities, a sort of system overload which you had to sleep off. Do you feel alright, though? A moment ago you mentioned your head."

"Yeah…actually, I feel a lot better now, but that was really, really weird. I'm not doing that again, for sure," he said, shaking his head as his mind began to clear.

"Well, the good news is you don't need to. The Tardis was able to hone in on your brother's location based on your memory of him. And, if you're ready, we can land." The Doctor explained.

"Let's do it," Sam assented.

"Brilliant," the Doctor replied, moving back to the controls, where he initiated the landing sequence.

The familiar screeching met Sam's ears as the Tardis shook briefly, then fell still.

"We're here?" Sam asked.

"Yes. This is where she tracked your brother to. Although I haven't done this with a human before now, it has worked when I did it myself. I can only assume it's correct. She hasn't failed me yet, you know." The Doctor smiled as he spoke, stroking the console as if it were a cat.

"Yeah, I get that, but where are we, exactly?" Sam prodded, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Oh, yes. Time and place…let me see," The Doctor replied, typing rapidly on a keyboard before pausing to read off the monitor.

"It appears we're in Boise, Idaho. But is that what you wanted to know?" The Doctor said, looking at him.

"Date might be good too," he returned.

"It's the same day as it was before…whatever date that is in your universe. I'm afraid she's only calibrated for my universe. Still calculating the date for this one." He made an awkward face saying this, as if to briefly embody his embarrassment at perhaps his ship's only shortcoming.

"Mm, good to know," Sam said, nodding as he headed toward the doors.

"Alright, then," The Doctor said, prompting him to pause a moment. "I don't suppose you'd mind us coming with you?" He motioned toward Canton.

"I need to do this myself. There's no telling what could happen," Sam explained, shaking his head.

"Alright, but be careful," The Doctor warned, waving to him.

Sam nodded grimly, grabbing his bag and his gun from where he'd left them by the door.

He pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold night air.

They had landed in an alley, between to old brick buildings in what appeared to be the red light district of town. A sign in a bar up a ways blinked in the window, the neon buzzing tiredly, perhaps the only thing living besides Sam himself.

He started, whirling about, whipping out his gun when the silence was shattered by the unmistakable sound of glass breaking.


	6. Chapter 6

Shouting, footsteps running.

He ducked into the shadows of the building, moving forward in the cover of darkness to try to get a view of what was going on.

Someone in a dark hoodie was running a ways off up the street.

After a split second of indecision, he jolted to action and took off after them.

He flew over gravel and then pavement, his shoes smacking loudly against the ground. He followed the figure as it turned down the next street, gaining on him rapidly as his greater height gave him an advantage in speed. Yet the person he followed didn't look back, just kept running.

As he got closer, heart pounding in his ears from the exertion of pursuit, he could see the flash of something white in the man's hands.

When he was within 30 feet, he saw the man glance back over his shoulder.

His heart leapt in his throat when he saw who it was. He stopped dead in his tracks, standing agape for a moment before he had the presence of mind to speak. He shouted, "Dean!"

He didn't reply, didn't pause, but with a toss of his head, kept running, leaving Sam where he stood in the middle of the dark, cold street.

He panted, waves of emotion rising and falling with his breath, as he heard a car engine start, its tires squealing as it sped away.

"Dean," he mumbled again, his voice low. "What the hell is going on with you?"

He picked his way back toward the Tardis slowly, concern creasing his forehead.

He knocked on the door, which Canton answered.

"No luck?" He asked.

"Yeah…" Sam trailed off, throwing his bag to the floor a bit too hard, which earned him a disapproving look from the Doctor.

"Careful with her, you know she's conscious. And she's just warming up to you, aren't you Old Girl?" He said.

"Whatever," Sam growled, shaking his head. "I need to be alone. God, I need time to _think_."

Canton shrugged nonchalantly in response. The Doctor looked on, a thoughtful expression on his face as Sam went to sit again by the console.

He gazed up at the ceiling, feeling his eyes fill slowly. He mashed them shut, mouth open in a snarl of pain, trying despite the sheer impossibility to hold it all in.

This failing, he dropped his face into his hands, letting out a slow, shuddering sob. "I can't do this. This…everything. What is wrong with you, Dean? What the hell is going on?"

"You saw him, didn't you?" The Doctor spoke from beside him, startling Sam. He raised his head, turning his face away, grimacing as he tried to pull it together again.

"Yeah," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

"And…he wasn't the Dean you're used to." The Doctor continued gently.

"No. He's not himself. I…I don't… God, _I thought he was dead_! And…and then, he disappeared. There have been reports, a few sightings, but by the time I get there, he's gone. There's absolutely nothing. Maybe he's pulling the tapes or killing witnesses. I don't know. And _nobody_ will tell me anything. Nothing at all persuades them… _Nothing_. And believe, me, I've tried," he said darkly, continuing, " Cas isn't any help, being next to powerless, and….Just…screw this! This life…. I never wanted this life, to begin with, but….at least I used to have him. And now, he's gone too."

"Are you certain of that?" The Doctor asked after a moment.

"What the hell do you know?" Sam spat, his voice raw.

"I know what you showed me before. And I know you're hurting. But think about it, what would make him run from you?"

Sam shook his head, sighing shakily. "I don't…I really don't know."

"But you do. You know your brother better than anyone. "

"Fine. Wild guess, this has something to do with Crowley. He's the only one who could bring him back. But….he must have…changed him somehow. Oh, oh…my god…" He trailed off, eyes widening with alarm.

"What is it?" The Doctor asked.

"Why didn't I think of it? Crowley's behind this, and…well, he'd been being…really….friendly with Dean before he died. I think…I think he turned him, somehow. He turned him into a demon."

"I see," The Doctor replied. "It would fit, though, wouldn't it? Why your brother's behavior is so different now, and why he hasn't contacted you."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, forehead creasing with consternation as he thought.

"Of course," The Doctor continued, "The question would be, what are you going to do?"

" I guess there's only one thing I can do," he said slowly.

"I have to find him. And…I have to change him back."

"But can you do that?" The Doctor asked.

"I…can't. I will die, if I do it. The Trials…it would complete the trials, kill me, and shut off Hell, forever. Which…it… It might be worth—"

"No, Sam," The Doctor interrupted him. "No. If you're anything like the people I know, you are too important to this world, and to your brother, to sacrifice yourself like that. What stopped you during the trials, anyhow?"

"Dean," Sam said bitterly. "It was Dean. I could have ended everything. Heaven, Hell, the damn Apocalypse that keeps trying to come back, _everything_, but he stopped me. I was dying. But…he…he was willing to keep fighting, keep living this awful life, just to have me with him. He lied to me to get an angel inside me to heal me. He risked everything. Because of him, because of him saving me, Kevin's dead. And…god. I don't know what the hell to do."

He sniffed, running a hand through his hair.

"Well?" Canton approached them from around the other side of the console. "I couldn't help hearing, but it sounds like you have a pretty good idea what to do. Sure, it's bloody awful. But…you do know what you need to do. Start by finding him. Catch him, whatever. And then, you find somebody who can cure him for you, yeah? Just because you can't doesn't mean nobody can, does it? Or is that some special magic thing that only you two can do?"

"He does have a point," The Doctor pressed.

"I…I don't know," Sam replied. "I don't know…but…if…if we could somehow trap him….if I could find someone else to do it…."

"Well then," The Doctor replied. "I suppose the first thing you'd need to do would be find him again."

"Yeah, but this time, I'll be ready."

Sam nodded soberly, standing up slowly with a new determination in his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

"I guess we can do this. There's somebody I need to talk to first…" Sam trailed off, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

…..

Castiel looked up from the road, holding the steeringwheel with one hand while he reached for his flip phone with the other.

"Hello?" He answered it.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said.

"Sam. I was about to call you myself—" Cas began, but was interrupted.

"Yeah, look, I know how to find Dean! I'm with….well I don't know if we ever told you, but, there's somebody you should meet. His name's the Doctor, he has a time machine, and I'm with him right now. Anyway, he's agreed to help me follow Dean."

"Slow down. A Doctor? With…a time machine?" Cas questioned.

"Yeah….it's all really complicated, but the point is, he's kinda like you guys, angels, with like, omniscient consciousness and powers and stuff, but he's an alien. We ran into him once before. You can trust him. Anyways, his ship can take me to Dean. We already did it once—"

"You found Dean?!" The angel's voice raised with excitement.

"What's left of him. He's…I think Crowley changed him. A demon, or something. All I can say for sure, is Dean is not going to come with us willingly. I saw him, spoke to him, and he just ignored me. It's like he's someone else, like, like I….didn't mean anything to him." Sam explained.

"So, he got away?" Cas asked, his voice falling.

"Yeah. He…yeah. He's definitely not our Dean. Anyway, I can track him—"

"That's great news, Sam," Castiel replied, "Listen, go for it if you feel like you can trust this Doctor guy you're working with. But, please, don't confront him without me. I think I'm getting close to regaining my grace. Just…wait a while, OK?"

"You are? That's fantastic." Sam gushed.

"Yeah, I guess." Cas's voice was grave.

"What….what's wrong, isn't that good news?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, no, look…. Follow Dean….just….don't do anything yet without me. Sorry. I've got to go." With that, Cas hung up the phone, frowning as he tossed it back into the middle console.

He sighed, glaring back out at the road. What was coming was going to be hard, he already knew it. Just what it would take, though, he wasn't sure.

…..

"Alright. What do you need to stop him?" The Doctor asked.

"Well," Sam said, "I'm going to need to get a few things, just in case. Cas…Castiel, a friend of mine who's an angel, is hopefully going to get his powers back soon. Anyway, I figure we'll just follow him for a while, see what he's up to, and I'll try to figure out a way to stop him."

Canton nodded, "Yeah, sounds reasonable enough to me."

"Good. So, Sam, what do you need to do to get ready?" The Doctor asked, moving toward the controls.

"Well, I have some of it here…but…I could use to go back to my car, get the rest." Sam said after thinking a moment.

"And what all would that be?" The Doctor asked.

Sam sighed. "Look, I know you don't like guns, but that's the only way through this."

"Just don't expect me to use one. But, better yet, is there anything we can do?" The Doctor asked.

"Well," Sam mused aloud, "It might be a good idea to leave you guys with one. In case anything happened. But regular guns won't work. It has to have the right bullets, bullets engraved with a devil's trap to stop a demon. I've used them before, on Crowley, and on Abbadon. They're the only thing so far that works to stop them without getting close. And believe me, you don't want to do that. Even just being anywhere near Crowley, he can explode your body into nothingness if he wants to. Anyway, if it comes to it, shoot Crowley or any other demon with an etched bullet, and they won't be able to move from the spot they're on, or use their powers. Just…don't count on it working for too long, because they're friggin' cunning, and they will figure out a way to get it out, so they can fight again."

"Alright, that's all fine, but what do you fancy we do once we have them trapped in place with these special bullets? You said they don't work for too long." Canton questioned, his expression skeptical.

"Well, that's where the handcuffs come in. They help, they're engraved with devil's traps too, so that they can't use their powers while they're in them. Anyway, if you can take me back to where we started out, I can get all of it out of my car." Sam explained.

"Alright then. We'll be back to your car in a tick," The Doctor said, "Oh, and by the way, you might want to hold on—" He flipped a sequence of switches and dials, and typed briefly on a keyboard.

The Tardis to begin to shake, the familiar screeching sound echoing as it dematerialized. Sam grabbed a railing as it began to pitch about beneath him, like a ship at sea.

"Well, this is a bit of a ride," he said.

"Eh, you get used to it," Canton returned from where he stood, gripping the edge of the console.

"Are you commenting on my driving?!" The Doctor called from the other side of the console.

"What? No. Just…well, OK, yeah…" Canton feebly attempted to deny the accusation, which earned a chuckle from Sam.

"Is he always like this, though?" Sam asked in a lower voice.

"As far as I know," Canton replied.

"Heh, figures," Sam laughed, bracing as the Tardis jolted again as it flew.


	8. Chapter 8

"Well," The Doctor called out as the Tardis shuddered to a stop.

"We'll be waiting for you."

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Be right back," grabbing his bag and gun, pushing open the doors before him.

He frowned to himself as he made his way out the door, across the cement yard, through the pools of icy, crackling light poured out by the utility lights. He ducked through the gate, the padlock which he'd cut open rattling against the chain link as he passed.

A few quick strides carried him across the gravel to the Impala, which sat, silent, gleaming in the moonlight, grabbing the keys from his pocket as he walked.

"Okay," he said to himself, turning the key in the lock to the trunk. He reached in, grabbing a duffel that held two handguns and the ammo, and put his shotgun back, knowing full well it would be useless against a demon, its size only serving as an encumbrance.

He opened a box that sat in one corner of the trunk, lifting out two pairs of handcuffs. He put these in the bag with the guns, sighing as he slammed the trunk shut.

He felt something inside him, only in the strangest of ways, from handling the guns, the manacles, which he and Dean had used so many times before together. His mind flashed to Dean, so many moments, so many times, throughout their lives. The Impala itself seemed so empty, so dead, without him in it, belting out the same 5 albums worth of rock, whining about wanting pie, heckling Sam, and cracking one-off jokes.

The jokes, the greasy food, the late nights and crushingly early mornings, the thousands upon thousands of miles spent sitting in those leather seats.

He paused, leaning against the side of the car, caught up in his recollections.

"I'm going to get you back," he whispered to himself. "I promise you."

With that, he hefted the bag of weapons, trodding back over the broken asphalt he'd crossed to the Tardis.


	9. Chapter 9

Back inside, Sam put down the duffel, pulling out one of the guns and some of the bullets, which he poured into a zip lock bag.

"OK," He called, motioning for Canton and the Doctor, who had been sitting on the other side of the console, talking, to come over.

"I suppose you got what you needed?" The Doctor asked.

"Yeah, but that's not all. If you're gonna help me with this, you both need to know what to do if a demon comes," Sam explained.

"These bullets—"he picked up one in his hand, holding it up to show The Doctor and Canton—"Are engraved with binding sigils. If you shoot one with this, they can't leave their meat suit, and they can't use their powers."

He stopped for a moment, seeing Canton's confused expression.

"Oh, yeah, right….So, uh, what I'm fighting are demons. They're basically really nasty spirits that went to Hell and became twisted and evil. Anyways, to take on physical form to do stuff, they possess a human body. But they're not trapped in it like your soul is in yours. They can leave if they want to, or you can exorcise them to send them back to Hell, although for now, that's not what you need to worry about."

"That's all very well, but how do I tell who is a demon?" Canton asked.

"Easy. First of all, they'll be coming at you, ready to fight. And they also have a tendency to try to scare people by showing their eyes—their eyes go black. Or red, but probably black. And under no circumstances make any sort of deal with them…if you do, they're just doing it to get your soul, because in ten years, more or less, they're going to come for their end of the bargain and you're going to Hell. It's not a good deal at all, trust me on that one."

"You mentioned they possess human bodies for their corporeal forms," The Doctor cut in.

"Yeah?" Sam replied, shrugging.

"You said to shoot them if they attack. Won't this leave their human host wounded or dead?" The Doctor asked, concerned.

"Well, yeah, but…if they're _coming to kill you_, you have to stop them first, before you can worry about the meat suit." Sam huffed. God, he thought. I don't have time for this...

"You know, I rather dislike that term," The Doctor said, his voice disapproving. "Surely there's another word for it, the humans they possess, because, after all, aren't they still human beings in there, past the demon?"

"Yeah, vessels, if you prefer. Anyways, the deal is, if they're coming for you, you don't have time to worry about them. You have to get away first. I mean, especially since you have Time Lord powers and…yknow. A Tardis? I mean, what would happen if they got their hands on this?" Sam

"The greater good, you mean," Canton nodded thoughtfully.

"Still, innocent humans—" The Doctor insisted.

"_Who are trying to kill you_?" Sam interrupted, impatience making him snappish.

"I was merely going to say, I find it distasteful, however I do understand where you're coming from, in terms of absolute necessity." The Doctor said, raising his hands as if to suppress Sam's rebuttal.

"OK. Good, so…you've at least go that much. If they come for you, _shoot them._ It will hold them in place in their vessels and render them temporarily powerless while the bullet's in, but they will try to get it out, because they aren't stupid. So it won't hold them for long. After you shoot them, you either need to exorcize them or get the hell out of there. Don't hang around waiting."

"Understood," Canton replied. "Speaking of exorcisms, how does that work, exactly?"

"Well, I could give you a copy of the text you'd read to do one, but I don't think you should worry about how to do that right now. If it comes down to it, shoot and run. Don't wait around...it's not worth it with the lower level demons." Sam explained.

Canton nodded. "Simple enough."

"Say, Canton, if you've done White House security, I'm guessing that means you know how to shoot?" Sam asked, holding out one of the guns.

"Yes, of course," He replied, taking it.

"OK, good. This is yours for now, and you'll need these—" Sam handed him the bag with the bullets. "There's only so many, though, so make them count."

"I understand," Canton replied, taking them too.

"Alright then," The Doctor said, "I suppose if you're ready, we can be on our way to finding your brother."

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "So...what will we need to do? Will I have to...y'know-" he motioned toward the chair with the psychic interface at the console.

"No, no, I don't think so. She now understands your brother's spacio-temporal signature. It is just a matter of following it, now that she's locked in. It shouldn't be difficult," The Doctor replied, moving to the console where he proceeded to type on a keyboard, studying the contents of the screens.

"Oh, OK, that sounds good," Sam said, sighing in relief. At least I don't have to go through that again, he thought.

"Oh," Sam said, turning to Canton, "Before I forget, here's a pair of cuffs with binding sigils. And...I'll give you a copy of the exorcism. But again, don't try to exorcize every demon you find. It takes time, and practice. Something you don't have. The cuffs, though, work on the same way as the bullets. As long as they're on, they can't use their powers, and they can't leave their hosts." He handed Canton the shackles, muttering to him "Just a minute, I'll have the exorcism too." He pulled out a notebook and pen from his backpack, which he placed on the edge of the console, and wrote down the exorcism, which he tore out and handed to Canton.

"Good. These might come in handy," Canton replied.

"Yeah. But I hope you don't need them. Anyways, Doctor? How's it coming with finding Dean's signature or whatever?"

"It's coming along well. I think we're nearly ready to depart," The Doctor said.

"Great. Well then, let's go for it," Sam replied, sitting down in one of the seats by the console, holding on to the armrests as the Doctor began the dematerialization sequence.

The screeching echoed, and the Tardis began to shake as they departed.


	10. Chapter 10

The Tardis sputtered a bit as they landed, as if to shake off the sense of urgency that was building inside the console room.

"Alright," The Doctor called as he stepped back from the controls.

"Where are we," Sam asked, standing from where he'd been sitting for the short ride.

The Doctor nodded, pulling up the feed of the outside on a screen.

"Ah, we're in Rock Springs, Wyoming, a bit into the future, by a day or so. It's midmorning out there."

"Okay," Sam muttered. "But you're sure he's here?"

The Doctor typed on a keyboard before replying. "Yes. I'm certain. His spacio-temporal signature is strong in this area. However, I'm afraid she can't track him down to the spot unless you want to land directly on him, so…you'll have to do the rest of that on foot."

"Yeah…no. I somehow doubt squashing Dean would help things any," Sam sighed. "I guess I'll be off then—" Sam nodded to the Doctor, heading for the door, when Canton approached him.

"Hey, wait. I was thinking, what with how dangerous these beings, demons, are, you might should have some help," he explained.

"No, really, I have to do this—" Sam began but was interrupted.

"Hear me out. You've gone to great trouble to explain just how risky an endeavor this is. But think, what if something happens to you? Your brother needs you, yeah? And who would there be if not for you?" Canton asked, putting the gun Sam had given him in a holster at his hip.

"Yeah.." Sam said thoughtfully. "I guess you're right. I just…I can't let you get killed doing this." He shook his head.

"I've fought the Silence, Sam," Canton said. "I can handle myself in high pressure situations. You said to shoot them on sight, and that's what I'll do. They won't have the chance to do anything."

"Alright then. I…I guess you can come. Doctor, though, you'll stay here?" Sam replied, gesturing to the Doctor, who nodded.

"Yes. However, I think I might have something of use to you," The Doctor said. He reached into a drawer in the console, pulling out a large, strange device.

"And…what exactly is that?" Sam asked, making a face.

"It's a psychic implantable communicator," The Doctor replied.

"Oh, OK," Sam said.

"Your hand?" He asked, prompting Sam to extend his hand to the Doctor, punching a button on the device, which sent a sharp pain stabbing through Sam's hand as the device pierced his skin.

He winced, muttering, as the Doctor let go of his hand, the device implanted. "You could have mentioned it was going to involve stabbing me."

"I thought the words 'implantable communicator' would suffice," The Doctor shrugged, giving a wry smile.

Sam chuckled. "Maybe," he replied.

"Eh, whatever," Canton rejoined, stepping up to get his implant.

"Bloody, that does sting a bit," Canton complained, waving his hand as if to dull the pain.

The Doctor didn't respond, instead implanting one in his own hand.

"Yes, so," The Doctor said, flexing his hand with the implant. "Try it out."

He lifted his hand toward his mouth, and spoke something nearly unintelligible into it.

Sam started as he heard the Doctor's voice inside his mind, saying:

"I think you'll find it quite handy."

"Yeah," Sam replied into his communicator.

"Yes, quite interesting," Canton told him through it.

"OK, that's kind of weird," Sam said, this time openly.

"Weird? I thought it was brilliant!" The Doctor burst out. "They will allow us to communicate with no interference except in extraordinary circumstance, most notably, they will work to communicate from inside to outside the Tardis. "

"Alright then," Sam said. "That's great. So….what, you'll stay behind and fly behind us, while Canton and I try to tail Dean?"

"Yes. And you'll be able to contact me immediately if something goes wrong." The Doctor nodded, making a shooing motion with his hand. "So, go on then! Find your brother!"

Sam nodded as he and Canton made their way out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

They emerged into the cold, dull gray light that permeated their surroundings: concrete, cars, stores, the downtown of the city.

"So, Dean…" Sam said, his voice trailing off as he took in the environ.

"Right," Canton replied. "You do your thing. I'll hang back a bit and make sure you're alright." He nodded.

Sam muttered his agreement, shaking his head as he concentrated on trying to pick out any sign of his brother from their surroundings.

Dean….he thought. Where are you? Who are you now? What would you be doing….?

He frowned as he noticed a commotion up the street.

Voices were rising and falling in unison, something that sounded like….

A brawl, he realized, as a door up the way ripped open, a group of irate men pouring out, shouting and shaking fists as a pair in the center of the mass duked it out there on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, uh, that looks like it might be him," Sam grunted, eyes on the two men in the center, one of whom appeared, even at this distance, to be of a familiar build, with dark hair. He walked quickly but in a way that he hoped appeared aimless, approaching the commotion. Canton nodded, following him at a distance, pretending to look at the signs that dotted the walls of the businesses along the way.

As he neared the clot of people, he saw that the potential Dean he realized, had the assailant pinned against the sidewalk, punching him repeatedly in the head, the onlookers booing and scrambling about as if uncertain of what to do.

His throat tightened as he saw the man's sleeve pull up, the unmistakable form of the Mark showing on his forearm as he swung for another punch.

Sam grimaced, suppressing the desire to call out. It hadn't worked before. Clearly it would do no good now, perhaps even harm in his brother's agitated state.

Instead, he lifted his hand to his mouth, mumbling into it:

"Up the block a couple doors, that fight. It's definitely him," he said, his voice betraying the underlying tension.

"Message received," The Doctor's voice chimed in his mind. "Carry on."

"Yes, good, keep me informed," Canton replied likewise.

'Yeah," Sam agreed, lowering his hand again.

He swallowed hard, trying to push the emotion back into himself as he focused. The people converged around his brother in the fight, blocking his view.

Grunting with dismay, he crossed the street, walking up the block a bit toward the fray, trying to get a better view.

As he neared, his view still eclipsed by the bystanders, he fought his impulses. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush forward to see him, grab him, stop him, anything. Yet he knew logically it wasn't going to do much good. There were too many people about here, too many to get in the way, too many civilians just waiting to get hurt. It was a fact that Dean wasn't going to come voluntarily, and might even attack, considering there was no telling what changes had taken hold from whatever Crowley had done to him.

He clenched his fist, feeling with his other hand the binding handcuffs in his pocket. If he could get close enough, he thought….

His attention shifted again, his heart leaping as the crowd parted, allowing him to glimpse his brother and his unwitting victim. Dean's figure was silhouetted against the neons in the bar windows as he stalked off up the street, a his gait swinging with a nonchalant swagger.

Sam shook his head, speaking into his communicator as he began walking quickly to follow.

"Hey, he's leaving the crowd, I'm gonna follow."

"I copy," Canton replied shortly, ending the communication.

Sam nodded grimly, focusing on his brother.

He followed at length from the other side of the street, walking two blocks in this manner, before pausing to jay-walk across as Dean darted away around the corner.

Sam grunted in frustration, speaking into his com, "He made a left. I'm following."

He raced around the corner, jogging to try to catch up so he wouldn't lose track. He jerked to the side at the last moment as a woman nose to her smartphone, sputtered at him as they nearly collided. He breathed a thoughtless apology, scrabbling around her to try to keep up.

He groaned under his breath as a clot of people poured out of a building, delaying him for several long moments as he craned his neck to try to watch past heads and shoulders.

People jostled by, the crowd thinning out as he made his way forward again. He paused, swearing as he realized he had lost him.

"Damn," he spat the words, making a face as he spoke into his comm "Do you have some sort of feed you can try to pull him up on? Because I can't see him—"

"Doctor?" Sam called into his communicator.

Silence.

"Canton?"

Nothing…

His forehead creased with concern, as he tried again.

"Canton? Do you copy?"

Error, error, a little voice sounded in his mind. Error, error….

"Ah, crap," Sam muttered, wondering. Where the hell are they?

"No …"

"Dean," Sam whispered to himself. "Where the hell are you," his brow creasing with a mixture of disgust, disappointment and pain. He turned, realizing that Canton was suddenly nearing him. Wait, he thought. Something's off….He's….his clothes...he's wearing the wrong clothes-

Canton came to stand beside him, laughing.

"Nice try, Moose."

"Oh, crap." He said, trying to move, but realized, panic mounting, that he couldn't.

"_You're not Canton_," he spat the words.

"No, Moose. I'm not. I'm the King of Hell, and as usual, you're none too bright." Crowley smiled arrogantly.

"Let me go," Sam said, voice shaking with rage.

"Or what? You'll call your alien friend? Shame, you can't get to your communicators, and besides, he's indisposed at the moment," Crowley replied mockingly.

Sam scowled silently, struggling ineffectually against the Crowley's powers, which were holding him in place, unable to move to resist in any meaningful way.

"No, I think you're coming with me. I'm not stupid, Moose. I know you've been tailing Dean. So I decided, it's about time to put a stop to this nonsense. Anyway, come along—" Crowley took a few steps back toward the corner, using his powers to compel Sam to follow. At first he tried to resist still, straining to stay put, to not move, but the invisible force of the telekinesis against his limbs felt as if it were going to crush his bones.

"Really, now, quit fighting. You understand I don't mind breaking your legs to make you move if I have to." Crowley prodded.

Groaning with effort, Sam relented, allowing the unseen force to make him follow Crowley.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for all the reviews, Anonymous and Sherlocked! I'm glad you've been enjoying it. Sorry about the lag in updating. I've had some stuff come up, writer's block, and then some extraneous plot bunnies, and then real life keeping me been busy with getting ready to start a new job. lol So again, sorry for the lag but rest assured, I haven't forgotten!

Sam came grudgingly, still in the grips of the telekinesis, which forced him to follow Crowley around the corner, where he saw a few paces ahead of them, settled back into a corner, a tall blue police box.

"Wh—" Sam gasped at seeing it. He was supposed to protect it, hide her, he thought dourly, anger and concern boiling in his blood.

"Oh, really? You have an infinite resource, all in this giant blue box, and what do you do? You bring it here to my doorstep, a gift for me. All it's missing is one of those atrocious big red bows. Really, though. I'm in control of it. And right now, you're going in, for safekeeping."

"What did you do with them?" Sam grunted, trying to keep from moving from the spot.

"Oh, they're indisposed at the moment," Crowley replied.

"No. I deserve an answer. Hell, just tell me. Then I'll do what you ask—"

"Oh, quit whining. Your alien friend is more or less alright. Now. In!" Crowley snapped his clapped so that he door swung open,

forcing Sam through the door telekinetically with a nod of his head.

The door slammed shut behind him, the empty sound echoing in the seemingly dead console room.

He gasped as he felt the telekinetic powers cease to grasp him, leaving him teetering on his feet with exhaustion as he realized he'd been still struggling against them subliminally, tensing everything.

"God," he muttered, leaning against the wall as he caught his balance.

"Hello?" he called into the emptiness of the Tardis.

It seemed to echo.

"Hello?" He turned around, looking about the console room as if to find something, any sign of the Doctor or Canton…

"No, no" he muttered, kicking the doors, which rattled but held fast.

"Open, damn it," he spat the words, trying again to no avail.

"No, of course not. But…The Doctor…I have to find the Doctor," he said to himself quietly.

He peered into the depths, calling out his name again. "Doctor?"

This time, he heard a hoarse sound. An echoing, coughing, from somewhere up the corridor.

He followed it, calling out again, his walk breaking into a jog, which became a sprint as he raced past doorways, footsteps echoing over the metal flooring as he followed the hallway that seemed to stretch on forever, trying to find the source of the reply.

"Doctor?" He called out again.

"Sam." It was hoarse still, but as he neared the source, the reply grew more distinct, so that the words were discernible. "Sam. In here."

He heard it now again as he rounded a corner, sticking his head through a door. He saw the chamber was some sort of brig, chrome surfaces reflecting the pale face of the Doctor where he sat slumped against the wall behind the chrome bars of a cell that cut him off from the rest of the room.

"Doctor?" He asked, approaching.

"Hello, Sam. Good to see you're alright." The Doctor managed a small smile. "Don't worry with me. I'll be fine. But your Crowley fellow, he's breached the psychic fields. He's in control of her corporeal form at the moment. It's how he got me in here-" he reached out, as if to touch the bars, but a blue spark appeared at the tip of his finger, making a loud zap. "He induced her to create a forcefield to contain me. I can feel her fighting him, locking herself away behind her shields so that she can redouble and try to throw him out, but he's putting up quite a fight..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"So...he's in control?" Sam asked, his expression troubled.

"Not entirely. He has the physical manifestation of her under his control, but she is fighting back, trying to throw him off, but most of all to protect the infinity of reality from his view. She knows he must not see it, must not be allowed to gaze upon the Untempered Schism." The Doctor explained,

"Yeah, but what did he do to you?" Sam pressed, kicking the bars to the Doctor's cell as if it would do any good, to reach toward him. As the toe of his boot slipped off the polished surface of the bars, it hit the forcefield, which crackled loudly as an electric shock seared its way into his foot.

"Ack," he recoiled, grimacing.

"Don't bother, " The Doctor sighed, "It won't do any good. And, to answer your question, as to how he overcame me, well, he induced part of the control modules to electrocute me."

"What?" Sam exclaimed, "But, you're OK now?"

"Don't worry with me, Sam. There are more important things to do right now. For one—"

"_More important_," A sardonic echoed throughout the chamber, startling Sam and the Doctor to looking up and about for its source.

Yet, he could see none. A thin blip of static as the speaker paused betrayed its origin as electronic. From this, Sam surmised it must be being broadcast via an unseen microphone somewhere in the chamber.

"Crowley," Sam growled, tensing as if to fight. "What the hell do you want? What are you doing—"

"Oh, Moose. Again, with the questions. Answer being, it's for me to know, and you, well, not to. I'm not that stupid, unlike you. And I'm the one in control here, so, really, I'll do the questioning from here on."

"Sure you will," Sam said bitterly, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Keep hiding wherever the hell you are, because you know, when I find you—"

"When you find me? Really? Dimwit, you'll be doing no such thing. Perhaps, though, you'd be interested to know a little more about your alien friend." Crowley said over the speakers.

"What about him?" Sam replied, anger rushing to the surface as he spoke, whirling on the spot to search for something to direct his glare at. "What about him? What about him could possibly concern me when _you're_ here?"

"Well, I suppose such subtlety might be lost on you. But, Doctor, forget Jolly Green's stupidity. Let's not kid ourselves. It's not as if you're innocent, as you tell yourself. So, so very many billions have died at your hands. Oh, and those you called your friends. Like Canton. But why don't you keep up your charade? Keep running from the truth, Time Lord? It's always been what you were best at. Run, run like you _always_ have!" The transmission crackled before switching off.

The Doctor stiffened, gazing at the floor.

"Run, from what?" Sam asked.

"From yourself," he said softly.

A heavy moment of quiet fell.

"The terror of a thousand worlds, the blood of your own people, forever staining your back, and forever on your hands. I run from that. The death of everyone I ever knew, or ever will know. All my friends, they've died, because of me. _No one_ _makes it out alive_." The Doctor replied slowly, still staring out across the floor.

"So it's true, what he's saying? You killed them? The people who trusted you?" Sam's face contorted with disgust, as he leaned against the bars, clenching them in his fists as if they could absorb some of the frustration that coursed through his veins.

"It doesn't matter. They died because of me. So very many others."

"But—your friends? Your own people?" Sam gaped, his voice a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"No, you don't understand," His tone seemed half snappish, half exhausted as he looked up, eyes burning with an ineffable mixture of rage and grief.

"Whatever," Sam said, sighing, turning away to sit with his back against the bars, "Forget it. It doesn't even matter. We're stuck in here, and the King of Hell is out there somewhere with your Tardis, possibly getting access to god-knows-what..."

"There was a war. A war bigger than you could ever imagine. The darkest of evil, the Daleks, against my people. Neither was going to win, but they were going to destroy the universe rather than fall. So I had to stop them." The Doctor's voice was low, grave.

Sam turned back to look at him slowly, and saw that he wasn't looking at him, but out across the room. He followed his gaze, where his eyes tracing across the empty expanse of wall.

"I...I guess I see what you mean now. You're not the only one who's faced that kind of choice," Sam said quietly. "I had the chance to end all of this. Close the gates of Hell itself, and I didn't. Dean—Dean kept me from it. Only, now, it's too late. I'm not sure what to do, although at one point, I know he would have wanted me to kill him rather than let him live like this. Thing is, I don't know if I can-"

Sam looked up suddenly as a tremendous rumbling noise shook the air. He scrambled aside, away from the cell, where it was coming crashing down between him and the bars of the Doctor's cell, staring as a partition in the ceiling began to descend. The Doctor said something, but Sam couldn't make it out over the commotion—he felt an unseen force fling him to the other side of the room as another partition now crashed into place in a slot in the floor, an immovable steel wall dividing the room so that he was cut off completely from the Doctor.

Sam moaned to himself, his head pounding from the impact against the floor from whatever had sent him sprawling.

"Finally, Moose. You got something right," Crowley growled as he emerged through a door to the next compartment. "You're in for quite a bit of that, actually. Now, come on, there's someone you should see."


	13. Chapter 13

Sam muttered angrily to himself as he felt Crowley's telekinesis grip him again, scowling as it compelled him to stand.

"Look! Back off, OK?" Sam snapped, scowling.

"Oh, touché, Moose. Touche. Really, though, why would I let you go even in the slightest? No, I don't think so. I'm in charge. And you're—" With a quirk of his eyebrow, Crowley forced Sam to raise his arm from his side "-Doing—" Now Sam's arm was forced back behind him "—_Whateve_r—" His elbow was bending now _" I want."_

With that pronouncement, Crowley forced Sam's hand into an unnatural angle, the small bones and ligaments in his wrist exploding with pain which left him gasping, stumbling as he struggled forward instinctively as to escape, falling as Crowley neglected to intervene.

The grip on his wrist released, allowing his reflexes to snap his arms out In front of him, only instants too late, he realized, a mistake. He shook as his injured hand contacted the ground.

"So, Moose. Let's try this again. But be a good little idiot, that is assuming you're intelligent enough to understand my orders. I have plans in addition to merely enjoying tormenting you, which I'd like to get on with."

"Go to hell," Sam muttered through gritted teeth as he righted himself.

"Oh, wait, what's this, dumbass? I already own the place."

With a thrust of his hand, he forced Sam to follow him up the corridor, the metal flooring clicking underfoot in the unnatural silence of the time machine. They made their way out into the console room, where Sam tried to pause, earning only a disgruntled 'tsk' from Crowley, who pressed harder against him, making him comply with the unspoken demand to move along.

He was propelled ahead of Crowley out the front door of the Tardis, which slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing emptily in what Sam could see was a bare, old room. They were in some old-fashioned abandoned house, from the looks of it…

"How the hell—" Sam began.

"What, you think I don't have plenty of servants running about to do something so simple as transport a glorified phone box?" Crowley scoffed. "But less mouth, more moving—" he gave him a telekinetic shove toward some stairs, which he scrambled down to keep from falling again.

"Where are you taking me?" He demanded as he descended ahead of Crowley into the darkness of what seemed to be a cellar.

"You'll see soon enough," Crowley said as he paused to throw a switch, which flooded the room at the bottom of the stairs with the flickering light of a utility bulb.

Sam squinted as his eyes adjusted. It was indeed a cellar, concrete floors, stone walls, windowless, with—some surprise, Sam thought bitterly—was set up as a dungeon.

"Crap. Just-" Sam muttered, breaking off when he heard someone else speak.

"So," a voice called, its owner moving from the shadow at the edge of the room. "You wanted to meet up in here, now tell me what all this is about."

Sam stared as his brother came to stand in the center of the room, his features looking unnaturally harsh in the flickering light of the utility bulb. Dean gave no sign of recognition, no flicker of acknowledgment, good or bad. He just looked past him, up the stairs at Crowley, who he regarded in an alarmingly casual manner.

"You see, Squirrel, I brought you a present," Crowley deadpanned from where he was midway up the staircase as he forced Sam against the wall. who had finished his descent, to to finish his descent, o stand beside him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Really, with the nicknames still? What did I say, about that, huh?" Dean prodded, completely ignoring Sam as he spoke to the elder demon.

"In case you've forgotten," Crowley sniped. "I am the King. And as King, I will call you whatever I bloody well please."

"Really?" Dean scoffed. "I mean, you called, and I came, might I mention I left karaoke hour to come, so what the hell is this about? And I'd like a straight answer before I start getting really pissed off. Y'know, since it might not exactly be in your interest for that to happen and all." He subtly moved his jacket tail to reveal the handle of the First Blade protruding from his pocket.

"Yes, yes, it's simple, really. We're here to have a long overdue good time," Crowley responded.

"Normally, I'd be down with that. Bring the whiskey, I can party anytime. But if that was really your plan, why would you've brought _him_?" Dean replied, gesturing toward Sam, who made a noise in his throat, choking back the emotion that made him shake in the demon's grasp.

"God, Dean, it's me!" He blurted, breaking off in a groan as Crowley jerked his already injured arm.

"Less mouth Moose, if you please," Crowley scolded. "The sound of your voice just ruins the delightful atmosphere we have here."

"Whatever you say, Lucky," Dean jibed, earning a scathing look from Crowley.

"Alright, enough mucking about. We ought to get down to the fun of it," Crowley said, shaking his head. "You, forwards."

He gave Sam a telekinetic shove, sending him forward across the room to the far wall, where sets of rusted-looking shackles hung, bolted to the stone walls.

As he came to a stop mere inches away, he realized with a rising panic that the red-brown substance on them wasn't rust; it was in some spots, still liquid, still dripping.

"Still don't see how this is supposed to be enjoyable," Dean said, leaning jauntily against the wall as he settled back to watch whatever was going to transpire.

"Oh, relax. We'll get through the fun of this, and then I'll break out the Craig," Crowley said. "Rest assured, it is a thing to drink to."

He smiled darkly as he used his powers to pin Sam to the wall so hard that the rough stones dug into his back, forcing the air out of his lungs.

He gasped, breathless, as Crowley snapped first one shackle, then another shut around his wrists.

"I don't know what you think you're going to do," he choked out as the pressure on his ribs relented, "But you're not going to—"

"I have to agree with him on this one," Dean spoke up, cutting him off. "I mean, if you're that bored, need to get your fix for torturing or whatever, let's find a few more of Abbadon's mooks. I don't mind, it's practically sport."

"No, I assure you, this has nothing to do with any supposed addictions on my part. I do have something in store, though, if you'd give me a bloody chance to explain!" Crowley snapped back, face reddening somewhat as he glared at Dean.

"Now, if you'll just allow me to begin our little party," he growled menacingly, raising a hand in front of himself, he clenched his fingers, claw-like, which triggered a grinding in the shackles.

A pinching, tearing at his wrists startled Sam. He bit back a scream as sharpness cut slowly deeper and deeper, like hot irons burrowing their way into his bones.

"So, Moose, do you see? Whatever you were going on about earlier is pointless. I am in charge here."

Crowley drew an angel blade from a sheath on the wall, slowly turning it over in his hands as he walked toward Sam, pointing it at his chest.

"I still don't know what you want, Crowley," Sam spat the words, voice shaking.

"I want? What I want—" He reared back his arm with the sword, swinging it toward Sam's face only to stop it an instant before it hit. "Is a perfect Hell. Me and your bother can create it. Except there's just one thing to deal with first. "

Crowley gestured with the sword as he spoke, looking thoughtful before lowering it again, a malicious look in his eyes as he gestured with an upturned hand, the shackles now glowing red-hot.

He waited for Sam's cries to die down before speaking. "Now, really, I could do this all day, but there's more pressing matters at hand—"

"Dean, please, please don't let him do this," Sam choked out as he caught his breath. "Just—just let me go-come with me! We can work through this, like—like—"

"Seriously? What makes you think I'd want to 'work through this?'" Dean began, nose wrinkling as he waited through his brother's moaning as Crowley again tightened the shackles before continuing, "Have you even stopped to think, that oh, I don't know, maybe I like this? Maybe I don't want to go back to being weak, mortal, human me?"

"Dean! No, no, Dean! Make him stop-" Sam's voice rose to a scream as Dean turned away, and Crowley, with a tilt of his head, tightened the bands of the shackles so that they cut deeper into his wrists.

"Emotion, pain. You know, it's incredible you morons have made it this long, Moose. So many weak spots. So many vulnerabilities. Look at you now. Your own brother is finally proving himself to be the stronger of the two of you. You were Azazel's chosen, but Squirrel, Michael's sword, wielding the power of the Mark, well, look who's the better of you now." He laughed.

Dean grunted at this, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Between gasps for breath, Sam felt an awful emptiness growing inside him, so large it was quelling, the desire to scream, to fight…

"Crowley—" Dean began, but was interrupted by the other demon.

"Sam, don't you just wish it was over now? Hell's won, and you're of no use to me, or him, at any rate. Oh, and, Dean, what more perfect way to seal the bargain, to right the numerous ways you've tried to sleight demon,

"Now you just wait a goddamn minute," Dean reacted to this, cutting Crowley off as he stepped between the King of Hell and his brother.

"But—" Crowley protested.

"No! You, just shut up for a freaking minute! I don't know what you think you're getting at, but—"

As Dean spoke, the doors burst open. Both demons whirled, Dean hefting the blade, an expression of shock twisting his features as a searing light burnt into the room. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away as far as he could.

_Bang. Bang._


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley shouted as gunfire shattered the already searing air in the oppressive room. A high-pitched whining assaulted his ears as the blinding light subsided.

Gingerly, he peeled his eyes open.

"Never cross a Time Lord," The Doctor proclaimed, who now stood in the middle of the room, earning a wordless growl from Crowley, who rolled his eyes from where he sat, stuck in place on the floor.

"Wh—what was that?" Sam gasped.

"Singularity charges," The Doctor replied, smirking. "A lesson borrowed from an old friend. Ace, quite a clever girl..."

"Who shot Crowley and Dean? You don't have a gun…?" Sam interrupted.

"Oh, I had some help," he said, as Canton came forward from the shadows at the back of the room.

"Hello, Sam," Canton nodded coolly.

"But…Crowley…. I thought he killed you!" Sam exclaimed.

"Oh, no. He rather likes me. Says we think a bit alike. Anyhow, he just had me shackled up somewhere. This came in handy, though," He twirled a metallic object, the sonic screwdriver, Sam realized.

"Yeah…so….I guess you got the gun?"

"Oh, yes. The Doctor wasn't too enthused with it, but I assured him it was worth it, saving you and whatnot. I, uh, did have to shoot your brother, though. Sorry about that." He explained as moved to as he moved tosearch Dean for weapons, taking the First Blade which he found in the pocket of Dean's jacket. Dean didn't say anything, merely glared up silently from where he lay on the floor, bound in place by the etched bullet that had buried itself in his shoulder

"Yes, by the way, I'll be having my sonic back now," the Doctor said, taking the screwdriver from Canton, going immediately to work on Sam's shackles.

"Bloody Time Lords," Crowley muttered bitterly as Canton moved now to search him likewise. "I should have known…"

"Yes, yes you should have," The Doctor replied, looking up from his work for a moment. "You knew the stories. But you thought you were stronger. Even the Daleks, the darkest evil of my universe, fear me. You should have taken the warning."

"Oh, come on, now you're just bragging!" Crowley snarked as Canton stepped back from him, brandishing the angel blade. "Well, this is it for weapons on him." With that Canton stowed it In his duffel where Sam supposed he had the guns as well.

"And you, by the way, can shut up," Canton admonished, smacking him over the back of the head. "If you quit whining, maybe we won't get his angel friend fry you inside out."

"Castiel? The disgraced, Castiel, who has a stolen grace? Oh, I'm so scared," Crowley remarked.

"No, really," Sam cut in, stepping away from the wall as the Doctor released the last of his bonds. "You might not have Cas to worry about, but you have _me._ Do you really think you're going to get away with this? Turning _my brother_ into a demon? Maybe you've heard, just what I've managed on my own." Sam continued, a quiet rage seeping into his voice.

Canton shrugged, relenting to allow the two to continue their exchange. He and the Doctor stood by, looking on.

"Oh, yes, I've heard Sam. I've heard all about your escapades as of late. It's rather the irony, how you still think yourself so superior, going around, flaying alive lower-level demons, left and right. Convincing humans to sell their souls. Killing them all alike for no reason whatsoever, except you're _so desperate_ to find your brother. Well, I think you can see. Dean's here, and he's happy with his life. The only thing he isn't happy about is _you_."

Crowley finished, smirking, a heavy silence filling the room.

"Sam?" The Doctor spoke up after a long moment, stepping toward him. "Is it true, what he's saying?"

"What about it?" Sam huffed.

"You've been torturing and killing living, sentient beings, humans as well as demons that have done nothing?" The Doctor pressed.

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "Look, the humans, I tried to stop, but really, the demons? What do you expect? And what else do you think they deserve—"

"Yeah, because we all just deserve to die," Dean cut in, his voice bitter, blinking deliberately as he stared his brother, allowing his green eyes to turn black.

"_You _are different, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, his words raw with emotion.

"Really? Am I? I'm a demon, Sammy. Just saying, maybe you ought to think about the ideals you're fighting for, OK?!" Dean spat the words, turning away from his brother as far as he could as he finished speaking.

"You keep running from the truth," Crowley said smugly, crossing his arms. "You, and your alien friend. You're not so different from me. And no better. We all just want to survive. Demons. Daleks. Time Lords, but if you had your way, why you'd kill us all."

"Stop it," The Doctor admonished. "You don't know what you're talking about. They were going to destroy _reality itself_—"

"Oh, boo, hoo, reality itself. It's always excuses with you lot—" Crowley rolled his eyes as he spoke, his tone scathing.

"No, no, it's not!" The Doctor shot back, his voice growing harsh with anger. "You were not there. You know what you've been told, but you cannot begin to understand what happened. So, just, shut up already. You aren't the one making the decisions here. _I am_. And_ I_ am talking. So please, just, shut up! Let me think."

"Oh, that's all very well," Crowley said anyway, returning the glare the Doctor sent his way. "But what are you going to do? What can you possibly do to the King of Hell? And besides, who are you to judge, the man with the blood of millions on his hands?"

The Doctor looked away, shaking his head, waiting a moment before he spoke, his voice soft, but filled with tightly suppressed rage. "Canton, do you have the duck tape?"


	15. Chapter 15

"Yes, of course," Canton returned, pulling a role of it from the pack he was carrying.

"Please see to it he doesn't disturb us anymore," The Doctor said.

"No, you wouldn't," Crowley shot back as Canton approached, tearing off a piece of duck tape.

"Really? Try me." With that, Canton pressed the tape over his mouth, silencing Crowley, who flailed with an enraged look on his face, which grew progressively redder.

Sam grunted satisfiedly. "You know Crowley, if it was up to me, this would be the least of your problems."

The King of Hell grunted something unintelligible, glaring daggers at him.

Sam smirked darkly.

"Sam? Can I trust you not to do anything rash?" The Doctor interjected, coming to stand beside him now, face grim.

"I don't know why you're suddenly changing tunes, but yeah. Nothing's any different than it was yesterday." Sam replied, frowning. He was going to believe Crowley, over me, he wondered, anger growing inside him.

"In a moment we are all going back to the Tardis. I will escort Dean," The Doctor said, voice serious, "And Canton, you get Crowley."

"Yeah, uh, by the way," Dean interjected, "You idiots realize we can't move, right?" He motioned to the bullet entry wound on his shoulder, which he unceremonionusly stuck his finger into, digging around for the bullet.

The action elicited a wince from Canton, who spoke up suddenly, "Bloody! Stop that! God, you people…demons, whatever. Just because it's not causing you unbearable pain like it would normal creatures doesn't mean it won't bother the rest of us. If you'll quit fidgeting with it for just a moment and I'll have your brother that out. Properly."

"Oh, OK," Dean grinned maliciously, continuing now quite deliberately in his digging at the wound, "Didn't realize you were so easily squicked out. But yeah, you go right ahead, get that thing out for me. Make my life a lot easier."

Canton narrowed his eyes in annoyance as he shuffled in his bag. "To be clear, we're not doing anything because it's convenient for you or your demon friend here—"

"Friend?" Dean scoffed.

Crowley rolled his eyes at this, making an unintelligible noise of frustration.

"We might both be demons, but we're a long friggin way from friends." Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows, taking stock of the situation. Good, he thought. The less he's aligned with Crowley, the better. Maybe that will even make this a little easier…

"Now if you're quite finished debating the finer points of your alliances, you could bother cooperating. That bullet's not coming out until you put these on—" Canton pulled out a pair of binding cuffs, which Dean reluctantly allowed to be put on his wrists, making a discontented face.

"And you too, King of the Annoying," Canton said, moving to Crowley now.

The demon glared at him, resisting for a few moments until Sam looked over at him pointedly, saying, "Give up already. You can't move and you don't have a way to get that bullet out unless we do it."

He relented angrily, glaring at Dean, who shrugged. "What, Crowley? You think I did this somehow? If you wanna blame somebody, blame them."

Sam approached him now, taking a pocket knife Canton gave him.

"Don't try anything," Sam cautioned.

"What you already said it yourself. There's nothing I can do until you get the damn thing out." Dean said, "Unless of course you let me do it—"

"Giving you and a knife? I don't think so," Sam shook his head, plunging it into his brother's shoulder as he spoke, eliciting a discomfited grimace from Canton, who paled considerably.

With a few more knife strokes, Sam worked the bullet loose, which squelched free, tumbling out with only a grunt from Dean.

"You really should find tougher people to work with, yknow," Dean muttered, looking at the Doctor as Sam moved to Crowley to remove his bullet.

"Yes, or we could simply avoid the damage done by guns, as I prefer," the Doctor shrugged, which garnered an eye roll from Dean.

"You're lucky this isn't an angel blade," Sam hissed in Crowley's ear as he dug out the bullet from his chest. His comment earned a blank glare from Crowley, whose mouth formed a nonplussed frown from behind the duck tape


	16. Chapter 16

"So, now. We'll all go to the Tardis. And I'll be watching all of you." The Doctor looked specifically at Sam as he said this.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam snapped, exasperatedly running a hand through his hair.

"I know you're trying to do what you think is right," The Doctor began, shaking his head, his hands held up in a shrug of surrender.

"Yeah, I am," Sam asserted, anger tingeing his voice, pausing for a moment before he continued.

"I really don't get what your issue is. I'm doing what you're asking. I just don't see what you're getting at. I haven't hurt anybody that didn't bring it on themselves." Sam shrugged, biting back emotion as he stormed off up the stairs and out of the room, toward the Tardis, as The Doctor followed him with Dean in tow.

"Sam—" The Doctor called after him.

"What?" He turned back, expression harsh as he regarded the Time Lord.

"You don't seem to think I understand. But I do. Really, I do. Remember that back there? The Time War? It really happened. I _killed_ the rest of my people. I don't think you want to do that. And don't think for a moment I'll let you do something like that—"

"Like what? Killing all of humankind? I don't think you have to worry about that, not from me at least—" Sam said, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it.

"No, Sam. Not that." The Doctor sighed. "But something you'll regret."

"And what do you think that is?" His eyes narrowed with disgust. Yeah, here it comes, he thought. Really…what does he think I'm gonna do, the self-righteous time freak?

"I don't know, Sam," The Doctor said, shaking his head. "But I don't like where you seem to be going."

"If you're worried about Dean, you can stop." He called to the Time Lord over his shoulder as he approached the Tardis, which The Doctor opened with a snap of his fingers from where he stood at the top of the stairs with Dean in tow. "He's safe with me. He's my brother, for god's sake. I'm not trying to kill him, I'm trying to _save_ him."

"Really that's nice and all, Sammy," Dean cut in, "But maybe I don't need saving. Maybe you just need to wrap your head around that, huh?"

Sam scoffed as he turned away, going through the doors into the time machine.

"Now that's quite enough from you," The Doctor reproached, pressing a hand to Dean's shoulder to steer him through the doors of the Tardis after Sam.

"Dude, hands off, Time Freak," Dean sputtered. "Just coz I'm a demon doesn't mean I'm some indiscriminate killing machine, OK? So really, hands off. I can walk by myself."

"Alright," The Doctor shrugged, mouthing "See he doesn't upset anything," to Canton, who had looked up from where he'd secured Crowley to see the commotion of the two brothers' argument.

The Doctor disappeared behind the console, busying himself running some sort of sequence, although of what sort Sam couldn't tell.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Dean muttered as Canton guided him to the seat across from Crowley, affixing the handcuffs to the armrest of the seat with a zip tie.

"Get what?" Sam shook his head, as he stood leaning against the wall, his eyes creasing with a bitter mixture of emotions.

"Have you maybe ever thought that, I dunno, I'm not the only one with-" Dean began, but was interrupted.

"Alright! Enough, you two," Canton cut Dean and Sam off with a reproachful look. "I don't know exactly what all you've done, but The Doctor's not too happy with either of you. So please, do me a favor and just shut up for a bit."

"Thank you, Canton," The Doctor said, appearing from around the console. "You've been quite helpful. But for the moment I need to speak with Sam."

He beckoned around the other side of the console, where Sam came to stand close to the Time Lord.

"What? What now?" Sam asked irritably.

"Well, there's the matter of where you two are going, and what you'd like to do with Crowley there," The Doctor responded.

"Yeah, you can just drop us off—"

"See, Sam, I get the feeling you're in a bit over your head. If you'd like help, you merely need to ask."

"Help? I don't need your help," Sam reproached, shaking his head.

"What I need is you to drop us off and leave me to do what needs to be done."

"And what would that be?" The Doctor pressed, his voice firm.

"Well, like everything else, you're not gonna like it, but there's only one way I know how to fix this mess. I need Crowley's help to figure out to do that." Sam said.

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" The Doctor probed grimly. "He doesn't exactly seem the sort to want to help."

"I need some time alone with Crowley," Sam replied, nodding.

"I'm not comfortable with that, Sam—" The Doctor shook his head, trailing off as Sam cut him off again.

"Look! What is it you're so afraid of, huh? Evil? Torture? Blood on your hands?" Sam snapped.

"Not on my hands. I've already the blood of countless many on mine. No, it's that I don't want it on yours."

"Mine? You realize I jump started the Apocalypse, right? _I_ let _Lucifer_ out of the Cage. Blood on my hands is just about moot. I—I don't have enough innocence or whatever else there is left to worry about anymore. I can only try to do what's right for now, with what's in front of me. And right now that means _getting my brother back_. "

"Still—" The Doctor interjected, only to be cut off when Sam spoke again.

"And if you're worried about Crowley-his blood is _demon blood_, OK?" He scoffed a little as he said this. "I somehow doubt the powers that be in Heaven—which_ doesn't give a crap _what happens to the world, by the way-would mind if I killed him."

"I understand, Sam, but—"

"Please, just let me finish. Because, see, I don't care what they think of me, either. I don't know for sure where I'm going when I die again, but I don't really care about that either. So far, every time since the Apocalypse, it's been Heaven, but I've come back so many damn times already, it just doesn't matter. Right now, what they think in Heaven doesn't matter. It's earth, it's the _people _out there, _dying,_ because of demons and monsters, and keeping the very few people," He broke off for a moment, sucking in a breath, "Those few people in the world who can do something about that alive long enough to hold this place together, OK? _That's_ what I care about. And one of them is my brother, so if you're worried about my ethics, something with me being selfish, and how it relates to the big picture, well, that's it. So if you want to find a problem with it, just tell me. OK? I don't know any better way than this. "

"I see." He paused momentarily, shaking his head slowly, the dilemma he wrestled showing plainly in his face. "I cannot condone what you want to do," The Doctor said slowly, "But this is your world. If I can help in any way, that is, help you avoid harm to someone, let me know."

"Alright. If that's how it goes, then…you can drop me and Dean and Crowley off at our bunker like I started out saying. Get out of here, preserve your plausible deniability to feed your delusion of ethics. Let me do the dirty work. That's fine. It's not like you'd be starting any new thing. That's how it's always been with the self-declared powers that be."

"Sam," The Doctor said, shaking his head, his voice tinged with deep sorrow. "That's not all what I mean. You've seen a bit of my mind. You know a bit of my history. Is your human brain so small you can't you begin to imagine that that's not where I am coming from? _I _will know that you are doing something unconscionable because I failed to intervene. And _that_ will not happen."

"Yeah, sure," Sam grumbled. "But I'm telling you that our world doesn't work your way. Like you told Canton, the laws of physics diverge here. Well, same goes for morality. Here morality's not your simple black-and-white. Nope, here it's all gray, in a world of nasty gray, and you're standing in the middle of it. There's not a speck of white to be found. Not even you, and you couldn't change it no matter how hard you try. Believe me, I've tried. Look where it got us. So, _please_, just let me do what I need to do. Going gray on one of the darkest forces in our reality is not going to be the end of the world. Hell, we already did that." He made a sound that was as much a scoff as a dry laugh. "And if this works, maybe it will help just a little freaking bit."


	17. Chapter 17

Sam shook his head, crossing his arms. "Decide something, damnit," he snapped, as the Time Lord stood impassive, playing with his bowtie.

"I don't…alright, Sam. Alright. We will try this your way. On a condition—

I am there, every moment of it. This is not going to be on your shoulders-"

"Like it even counts," Sam muttered. "After so many years of everything."

"Everything has not been your fault," The Doctor reproached him, searching his face to try to pick up his gaze, but Sam deliberately avoided returning it.

"No, you don't get it, and you never will. For me it's not just a people, it's a whole freaking world, my family, and it's all because of me. I was Azazel's chosen. I was—" He broke off, biting back emotion, hard lines forming around his nose as he grimaced.

"What is it, Sam?" is tone was a strange mixture of urgency, concern and gentleness. So saying, the Doctor stepped to stand so that his forehead nearly touched Sam's, his hand pressing to his shoulder, yet for once, Sam didn't resist the approach.

"I broke it. And I have to fix it." Sam whispered, the admission hissing out his mouth as if all air was stolen from his longs. For a long moment, he felt as if he was suffocating, before a shuddering breath in burned its way back into his chest. "I have to fix this." He said again, his forehead creasing with resolve. "Nobody else is going to."

"Maybe no one in your world," The Doctor said. "But I am here. And I can help. So, please, if you'll just let me."

Sam frowned, before giving a quick nod. "Fine. But what do you propose we do, since you're opposed to the more mundane methods of persuasion?"

"We bargain," The Doctor said. "We bargain with the one thing a man like Crowley values."

Sam scoffed, his face twisting into a skeptical grimace. "He's not a man. And what's do you suppose that is?"

"Himself." The Doctor replied, flashing a clever smile as he clapped Sam on the back.

This earned another scoff, although this time it was more a chuckle, "You know, you might be on to something. That might just work…"

…

"I will never, ever tell you anything, am I clear? And torture—" Crowley snorted as he sat back in the chair they'd put him in. They were all three in another chamber off the console room, just the Doctor, Sam, and Crowley. "As I've told you before, there's nothing you can do to me that's more than I do to myself."

"Oh, that's fine," Sam said. "We can just leave you in here for a few eons, in binding cuffs, with etched binding bullets in your body, encase you in cement, like we did Abbaddon there for a while, let you sit and spin and see how you like it." He smirked as he spoke, surreptitiously moving a hand behind his back to gesture "No," as he sensed the Doctor's desire to interject. No, no, damnit. Just because you're opposed to torture doesn't mean I can't threaten it, he wanted to shout.

"Well, that's all fine and well since it's just talk," Crowley remarked smugly. "And with him around, that's all it will be. So, tell me. What do you really plan on doing to find out how to 'save' your oh-so-precious Squirrel?"

"Oh, you nasty little demon," The Doctor spoke up now, stepping forwards. "We weren't depending on such crude measures. Instead, I propose, a trade of sorts. A fair trade, or a bargain, if you will. We can sign a contract if you like. I hear you demons like contracts. Anyway, in exchange for the information we need, you get something in return."

"Oh, really?" Crowley asked. "And I would cooperate with the likes of you because, why exactly?"

"Because," Sam said, "If you don't do it his way, we can do it my way. And you can say what you like, but you don't want that."

"Fine. Say, the conditions of this contract… Freedom, absolute freedom for me, no strings attached, and a certain blade, for ah, safekeeping, you might say." Crowley said, shrugging demonstratively.

"Absolutely not—" Sam spat the words at the demon.

"Oh, absolutely not? Well, might I remind you, you aren't exactly the ones in charge of this exchange. I'm immortal. I've been tortured in Hell until I became a demon, after all. Do you think I'd cave so easily after a few measely weeks of it here? I'm not exactly as torture averse as you'd like to think. And best of all, you can't kill me, now can you? That would just ruin the chance you have of getting what you want out of me. "

"Sam—" The Doctor began, only to be cut off by the exclamation Sam hurled.

"No! Just—just shut up, for a minute. I have to think—" Sam paced about the floor of the room, the agitation he showed growing in his expression as he spoke.

"Really, though, as if that's so much to ask in exchange for the purity of your precious Squirrel's immortal soul. Which, by the way, wasn't my fault. _He_ chose to take the Mark. It's what's created the demon he is now. It won't let him go. Not even death can stop it. Anyway, if you want him back, you might should decide soon. You have thought of it, though, haven't you? The longer he's a demon, the more completely he becomes one, whatever human weakness there's left just slowly leaching away? I mean, really, he is your brother, and this is his _soul_."

"Fine! Damnit, we'll take the deal." Sam scowled bitterly, wishing more than anything he had a better way forwards.

"Sam," The Doctor said placatingly,"Please do try and relax. Your agitation will do nothing for your brother."

"Yes, Moose, why don't you relax and listen to the Time Monkey a little?" Crowley cracked, a smirk twisting his features.

"Now that's quite enough out of you," The Doctor reproached. "The need to calm down goes for you as well. Or, in your case, bring the ego down a few thousand notches. You're quite infuriating, you know, although I suppose you rather like that."

Crowley didn't reply verbally but instead gave the Doctor a harsh look.

"So, contract," The Doctor said. "I suppose I shall supply that…"

"Contract? Yes, paper is all well, but that's not the sort of signature I require to seal a contract," Crowley said, raising his eyebrows.

"What?" Sam said, exasperation twisting his face. "No—"

"Oh, too bad then," Crowley tsked. "You do this my way or the deal's off."

Sam was shaking with anger now. The Doctor cautiously put a hand on his shoulder, inquiring in a low voice, "What is it? What is he going on about now?"

"He thinks he can do whatever he wants," Sam sputtered, "Like he hasn't done more than enough. Now if I did this my way, he wouldn't be pulling this crap."

"And that is—"

"He usually seals deals with a kiss. Now if he thinks he has that much wiggle room, to insist on petty crap like that, he's wrong. If you just let me alone with him for a few minutes with an angel blade, this would be over-" He broke off, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his scowl deepening as he shook his head.

"And what, exactly, Sam, is so horrific about that past the insult to your own pride?" The Doctor probed quietly.

"It's that he gets the satisfaction. Sick freaks like him have been running my life since before I was born. And I am ready to end that." Sam shook his head, moving away from the Doctor as he spoke.

"And what is his satisfaction, to you, Sam, after, as you've said, a lifetime of it? Isn't tollerating it just this once more worth the direct route to saving your brother?"

"Fine." He shook his head, relenting. "All I have to say is you better come through, you son of a bitch. If you don't, _I will hunt you down, personally, and I will kill you. And you better believe I will be glad to do it_." Sam hissed.

"As I've said before, my word is my bond, and the kiss is the signature to the contract. Alright then, Moose," Crowley grinned, about to continue when Sam cut him off.

"No. Just shut up and do it." Sam nearly shouted, coming to stand so close to Crowley he had no choice but stare into his face.

"Very well," Crowley said, smiling smugly as Sam reluctantly leaned in to the kiss.

Sam began to pull away after a moment, but Crowley nudged him with his shoulder, insistent to continue it for several nearly intolerable seconds.

After what seemed forever, Sam pulled away again, this time Crowley not protesting.

"See there, Moose? Deal on my terms, and you'll get what you want. Now, the cuffs," Crowley said.

"Fine," Sam hissed, the keys to them jangling as he took them from the Doctor who supplied them, unlocking them.

The demon smiled sardonically as he lifted the heavy bands from his wrists, stretching his arms. "Yes, and now the First Blade?" he pressed, holding out a hand as The Doctor stepped forwards to give it to him. He took it, turning it over before sticking it inside his coat, smiling to himself.

"Very good. Now, what you want you can find in a book. I can take you there, even, if you wish—" Crowley's expression grew even more satisfied at the look of outrage Sam gave off.

"No. Just the coordinates," he snapped.

"Fine, fine…" Crowley said, "A321-566-000-8291, B. Now, hate not to stick around and watch the drama, it's so very entertaining, even better than Real Housewives of Miami, but I really have to run—"

With that he disappeared, leaving Sam staring at the now-empty chair the King of Hell had occupied moments ago.

"So, off we go, then," The Doctor called as he walked to the doorway to the console room.

"Yeah," Sam nodded grimly as he followed. "It had better be there…"


	18. Chapter 18

The Tardis shook and pitched a bit, Sam holding tightly to the edge of the console to keep his balance.

The Doctor, however, seemed to move with it, like a surfer on a board in the ocean, ready for the next pitch of the vessel.

He was one with the Tardis, Sam realized. Like he could feel her every move coming. He stole a glance back over at Dean, unable to help being reminded of the way he had once driven the Impala, knowing every quirk of the vehicle so that he was never caught off guard by its performance.

But that Dean was gone. He'd run with Crowley, left Sam, and the Impala for that matter, behind Whatever demon he's become, Sam thought, it's removed the things I know in him.

He looked back over at the Doctor, who exclaimed with a childish sort of joy on his face, "Well, I do believe we're here. Wherever here is- A321-566000-8291, B…" He trailed off turning a monitor to face him, his fingers clacking on a keyboard momentarily. "It appears we are in Hob End, Montana."

"Alright then," Sam murmured, nodding. "I guess I'll go looking….

"Sam," The Doctor said.

"What?" Exasperation made him snappish.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," Sam nodded, grabbing his gun and his bag and gun, which Canton supplied as he headed off out the door.

He stepped out the door into the biting wind of an empty stretch of dirt road in the middle of a woods.

"What would it be doing here?" He mused to himself.

"More like what wouldn't it be doing here," a smug female voice said from behind him.

He whirled, raising his gun to see a slight woman with bleached blond hair standing before him in a long sweater dress.

"Really? Guns? You know that won't—" the woman smirked, rolling her eyes, which flashed to black.

_Bang. _Sam fired off a shot, which hit her square in the chest.

"Great, job, you shot me, genius," She frowned at him, moving to take a step forward, but stopped, freezing. "Oh, that's just great. This is one of your special bullets, isn't it? With a trap? Word's getting out about that. Anyways, the King sent me to make sure you got your book and everything just so, but now, well, I can't do that, can I?" She flicked blood from the wound so it ran down the front of her top, frowning at him.

"Not my problem," Sam huffed. "Although it will be yours if you don't tell me _exactly_ where it is."

"Relax," She said, rolling her eyes again. "I'll help you, but you owe me. Once you get your book, do me a little favor and free me."

"Yeah, sure," Sam shrugged, his lip curling in derision at the suggestion. "Book first, then we'll see."

"Look behind you," she sighed.

"What?" Sam snapped, turning to observe the remains of a mostly grown in path intersecting the ill-used dirt road they stood on.

"Gee, I wonder where we are?" She goaded in an isn't-it-so-obvious tone.

"The middle of nowhere. And I don't see anywhere this book would be," Sam said, taking a step towards her, still out of reach from where she was bound to the spot, his tone dangerous. His movements deliberate, he reached in the bag, grabbing an angel blade, which he held at throat level.

"Now you either tell me where it is or I will cut it out of you, understood?"

"It's here, in the crossroads," The demon said, her voice growing unsteady.

"Why should I believe that?" Sam pressed, deathly calm as he turned the blade over in his hands, regarding it coolly.

"This is where Crowley made his first deal," She said, "It's buried in the tin the first man who made a deal with him used for the spell. It should be right there—" She pointed towards a stone on the ground a few feet to the side.

"All I can say is you better be telling the truth," Sam said, turning away to dig.

He grunted, rolling the rock away before he crouched to scrape away handfuls of dirt. After several slow minutes of effort, he had a small hole going. With the next pass of his fingers raking at the ground, he felt something cold, smooth. Wiping away dust, he realized, it was the top of a metal box.

"Yes that would be it," the demon supplied.

Not responding, Sam gazed intently at it still stuck in the compacted earth around it. With the tip of the blade he had, he pried it loose from the surrounding ground, lifting it out to rest on the pile of dirt he'd excavated.

He fumbled with the lid for a moment, its rusted latch resistant to his efforts. Groaning, he banged it against the stone which lay beside it, the noise ringing hollowly in the frigid air.

Finally, the hinge broke open, and he was able to see the bindings of an ancient book inside.

Bending back the lid, he jammed his fingers in to pull it loose. The small volume slid out with dust into his outstretched hand.

"See? That's it. Whatever it is Crowley wants you to know, is in there." She said as he put the book in his bag, zipping it away securely. "Now, how about letting me go?"

"Let you go? Why on earth would I do that?" Sam snarked, standing from where he'd been crouched.

"Exorzamos te, spiritus immundi-" Sam began.

"Ugh," she muttered, "You realize, you shot her right in the heart? She's not going to live without me—"

"No, you're right," Sam replied, stepping forwards. "Makes this—"

A flash of silver in his hand darted from his hip to point at her throat where he brandished the Angel blade momentarily, "All the more direct."

With that, he plunged the blade into her abdomen, a grim smile forming on his face as he watched the last orange glimmer of power flicker in her eyes for an instant before pulling the blade from her body, as the woman crumpled to the ground.

With that, he turned away, striding back towards the Tardis, where he rapped on the doors.

They opened momentarily, the Doctor standing there, his face expectant.

"Well, Sam, did you find it?" He asked.

"Yeah," he grunted, nodding as he stepped into the ship, the doors swinging shut behind him.

"Excellent! And—wait, Sam?" The Doctor's tone changed to one of concern, as he stared.

"Is that blood?"

"What? Yeah, Demon blood. No big deal, just another low-level demon to take care of." Sam explained as he walked back around the console.

"Take care of?" Dean called from across the room. "Just wondering, is that what you're gonna to do with me if this doesn't work?"

Sam ignored his brother's question, sitting down at a table built into the wall instead.

"I mean, really, Sam, do you want to go there? Because, well, I know, I don't—" Dean continued to no avail.

"You needn't concern yourself over that," The Doctor replied cooly, "I will allow no such thing."

"Yeah, sure," Dean muttered grimly. "I'm sure you'd have told that demon the same thing."


	19. Chapter 19

"Take care of?" Dean called from across the room. "Just wondering, is that what you're gonna to do with me if this doesn't work?"

Sam ignored his brother's question, sitting down at a table built into the wall instead.

"I mean, really, Sam, do you want to go there? Because, well, I know, I don't—" Dean continued to no avail.

"You needn't concern yourself over that," The Doctor replied coolly from where he leaned against the console. "I will allow no such thing."

"Yeah, sure," Dean muttered. "I'm sure you'd have told that demon the same thing."

"You know, I try to make it a policy not to engage such baiting," The Doctor nodded to Dean. "Although in this instance you should also know I'd have intervened if at all possible. And that is all."

"Oh, you make it a policy. Just like he makes it his to kill demons. Good to know, since, yknow, I'm officially on his kill list." Dean jibed, smirking.

"Dean," Sam muttered.

"What, thinking better of it?" he snarked, making a mockingly expectant face.

"One? I'm definitely not planning to kill you right now. You might have noticed I went to some trouble to get this, yeah?" Sam indicated the book he was poring over with one hand. " And two—the writing in this is not the easiest to read. Please, _shut up_."

"Oh, ok, that's great," Dean replied, sarcasm flooding his voice, "I guess I'll just sit here while you decide whether I'm gonna live or not based on the contents of a book our mutual enemy gave you."

Sam rolled his eyes, clearing his throat loudly as if to emphasize his previous request, but refused to respond otherwise as he stared down staunchly at the object of his scrutiny.

"Is he always like this?" The Doctor asked as he came to look over Sam's shoulder at the tired old volume.

"Yeah, 'fraid so," Sam replied.

"Hey, I'm right here!" Dean snarked.

"Oh, believe me, we know, as if there's any way we wouldn't with the way you go on," The Doctor said, turning back to Sam.

"So you really believe this is going to do it?" The Doctor added in a lower voice.

"I sure hope so," Sam replied. "I really do…"

"You_ hope_?" Dean goaded. "Really? Crowley gives you a book. You're just gonna _believe_ whatever's in it?! You're really just assuming he's not trying to kill you some other way, since that's what he just was doing before ET here burst in on us?"

"Do you think I want to have to take that risk?" Sam's voice was low. "The truth is, I don't have a choice."

"Really, Sammy? _Really_? Because I think you do. Crazy idea—_ask me_ what I think, why don'tcha?"

"No," Sam said shortly. "Because you've made it abundantly clear you aren't you. So no. Your opinion doesn't count in this. And I'm going with what I've got, which hell, maybe it's not much but it's the best I have."

"Damn if you aren't freaking stubborn," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, sure, thanks," Sam grunted, turning so that he couldn't see his brother at all, hunched over the book on the table.

…..

Sam's head was pounding as he stood from the table, motioning for the Doctor to come talk to him.

"Hey," he said in a low voice. "So, uh, I think this is it."

"What do you mean? " The Doctor asked , moving to stand beside him, frowning deeply as he regarded Sam and the book behind him on the table.

"Well, you can take us back to the Impala now. It's all in there, and I have what I need already to cure him." Sam nodded grimly, a slight unease showing in his face as he spoke.

"Are you certain?" The Doctor prodded, his tone doubtful.

"Yeah. I am. It's uh, it's just something I have to do. I know, I'm surprised as you are, it's pretty simple, actually."

"Really, Sammy? " Dean cut in from where he sat around the console. "Because simple is never really in our vocabulary."

"Yeah, really. Although I thought it was pretty clear your input isn't up for consideration," Sam replied, giving Dean a look, before turning back to the Doctor. "I can cure him. Just get us back to where you picked me up, and from there I can drive us back to the bunker, where I have the stuff to do the ritual."

"If you're certain," The Doctor nodded reluctantly. "But please, if you need anything, let me know."

"Yeah, of course," Sam murmured, sitting back down at the table as the Doctor moved to the console, where he set to work sending the Tardis back to where they'd first left.

Sam stared at the book, the tiny snatch of relevant words he'd finally found in it echoing in his head.

_As the Mark was created in blood, so too it shall require the blood of the brother, whose burden is to take upon himself not only the blame for his own actions of embracing the evil of Lucifer, to atone and purify himself, but also for the evil of his brother, whose love went too far, and give of himself blood to wash away the evil which has been created by the Mark. For if not for this, the Mark shall never fade in its power, convoluting slowly the human soul it is stamped upon, as only in the sacrifice for and of the ties that bind remains the last vestiges of its bearer's redemption._

He buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle the tears slid out unbidden, burning hot down his face.

"Oh my God, Dean." He whispered, far less to the alien-feeling being that inhabited his brother's body across the room, and more to a God he had long since stopped bothering to think would ever listen. "What am I going to do?"

He spent the next few moments searching as he furiously fought back the overwhelming helplessness, wishing there was anyone or anything within reasonable likelihood of helping again, as he'd wracked his mind so many times before since realizing what Dean was, but again, as always, he came up empty.

Grief giving way to anger, he found himself slamming a fist into the table, the desperation exploding out in a meaninglessly noisy display.

"Sam?" The Doctor called, somehow able to tell the shuddering and jolting of the Tardis from the single blow Sam had given. "Are you quite alright?"

"Yeah, I'm great," he muttered, his mouth forming a hard line. "Just freaking great."

"Good. By the way, have you seen Canton lately?" The Doctor continued.

"What?"

"Canton, yay tall, bears an uncanny resemblance to your King of Hell?" The Doctor supplied, miming Canton's height and build with a cheeky grin between bits of his dance of pushing levers and hitting buttons.

"Yeah, no, I know," Sam shot back irritably as he stood. "I guess I can go look for him. Do you need him or something?"

"No, it just seems a bit quiet is all."

"Well then why does it matter-" Sam began, trailing off as he rounded the side of the console where he could see Dean, his view un-eclipsed by the machinery.

"What the hell did you do?!" He sputtered, rushing to do something, anything, to fix the scene before him.

Canton was sprawled on the floor in front of Dean, who shrugged, frowning nonchalantly. "Dunno, he was getting a little annoying, I guess. I mean the dude's seriously freaking bossy. I just wanted a little peace and quiet, that's all."

"What the hell? What did you do to him?!" Sam demanded, kneeling to look over Canton, who to his relief, groaned. At least he's alive, he thought miserably, spotting a dark swath of blood running down the back of Canton's neck from a laceration on his head from which it oozed.

"He tripped, I guess. Guy sure needs to look where he's going," Dean muttered, quirking an arrogant smile which Sam met with a look of revulsion.

"What?! It's not my fault humans are so damn fragile."

"What are you, evil and in kindergarten?" Sam scoffed, not bothering to look up as he shook Canton's shoulder.

"Hey, look, can you hear me? You took a pretty nasty fall and an impact to the head from the looks of it," he murmured.

"What the bloody hell just happened to me?" Canton managed hoarsely, his eyes opening.

"My brother, apparently," Sam replied, tone apologetic.

"Well, I can gather that much," Canton snarked, sitting up as he batted the air with a hand as if to tell Sam to clear out.

"I'm not braindead now, probably just mildly concussed. And look a right mess, I'm certain." He continued, frowning as his fingers traced the red dribble down his neck.

"Yeah, no, I-" Sam tried to speak but was drowned out.

"Ah, I never liked this shirt anyway," Canton muttered, regarding the area blood had seeped into its white collar.

"Yeah, sure, smartass," Dean interrupted. "But, yknow, I like you even less than you like your shirt, so why don't you quit being such a bitch about everything so maybe when I get loose, I don't feel like killing you first? Huh?"

"That's it," Sam cut him off tone harsh with anger, as he hauled Canton to his feet from where he still sat on the floor despite his protests. "You're going to stay here with the Doctor and I will fix this, once and for all," Sam replied, helping the still-unsteady man to the table he'd been sitting at.

Note:

Thanks for the reviews. To answer your question, yes, I do have a resolution in mind. Sorry it takes so long for me to update. I have 13 stories going at once, so lots of ideas all over the place.


	20. Chapter 20

"So, we're there?" Sam asked the Doctor, his tone uneasy.

"Yes, this is the materialization sequence." The Doctor assured him.

"Good," Sam nodded grimly. "You'll make sure Canton gets home OK? I have to cure him._ Now_…"

"If you're certain. And, if you need anything, here's my number," The Doctor replied, handing Sam a small blue card.

"Thanks," he said, managing a tired smile.

"Think nothing of it. In fact you know, I'd much rather be there—"

"No," Sam protested, shaking his head. "You have to take care of Canton. It's too dangerous to have any civilians around—"

"You do realize I'm no civilian, correct?" The Doctor asked, giving Sam a look with a smile that was so deep it looked almost sad in its intensity.

"Yeah, but Canton is. Point is, I'm the only one who can fix this…"

"Really? What do you have to do?" The Doctor asked.

"Not much, really. I just can't let anybody else near him while it goes on. Demons get extremely dangerous while they're being cured." Sam shook his head, staring at the floor.

"I'm old enough to tell when someone doesn't want my help, and I can tell when you're lying. But if this is it…if you do need anything, call. And let me help you get him out the door, at least. Won't do to have him getting free on you."

"Thanks," Sam nodded. He followed the Doctor past where Canton slouched at the table with an icepack on his forehead, to the chair where Dean sat.

"Come on." Sam said, severing the ziptie that secured Dean's handcuffs, taking hold of Dean's elbow, but he yanked away.

"Hands off," Dean griped, giving Sam a shove with his shoulder.

"Hey! Stop it," Sam admonished, but Dean jerked away, moving around the console to where the Doctor stood, blocking his exit.

Sam came closer but Dean landed a kick to his side that sent him sprawling to the floor, everything spinning as he struggled to get his breath back.

"I don't think you'd be doing this if you were yourself," The Doctor cautioned.

"Really?" Dean prodded, his expression incredulous. "I think I know exactly what I'm doing." He tried to shove past the Doctor, but didn't quite make it, the Doctor trying to block his way again.

"Get out of my way," Dean declared, trying again, this time managing to scramble behind him.

The Doctor reached to grab his elbow, but Dean wrenched free, throwing his arms over the Doctor's head, so that the handcuffs pulled at his throat.

"I told you to get out of the way," Dean growled in the Doctor's ear, pulling the cuffs tighter about the Time Lord's neck.

"Understood, then." The Doctor choked out, "But we only do this out of concern—"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said quietly from where he came up behind his brother and the Time Lord.

"If you're sorry, you'll—" Dean began, but was cut off by the shattering _bang_ that resonated through the console room.

Sam winced as he pulled the trigger, biting back tears, but forced the emotion back so that he could act. He's a demon, he rationalized. He looks and sounds like Dean, but he's a demon. He'll survive...he'll survive to be cured... Sam tried to assure himself, although at the moment the assurances might as well have been empty, as little comfort as they gave. He'd just shot Dean in the back...

He grabbed his brother by the shoulders as he stiffened on the spot, taking the weight from the Doctor's neck so that he wouldn't be strangled by Dean's weight. The red drip of blood was already soaking in the plaid of his shirt.

"I said-" Dean began, but Sam shook him, snapping.

"I know what you said! But you can't do this, you can't-"

"The same could be said for you shooting me!" Dean rebuffed.

"No. I'm not doing this!" Sam shouted, fumbling with the handcuff keys. He got one open, frowning at Dean. "Let go of him."

"Or what? Huh? You value this alien monkey that much?!"

"Shut up and behave," Sam growled, forcing Dean to comply. "You can't fight with the bullet in you, and you know that. So just...please, stop fighting this."

"Fine." Dean muttered, allowing Sam to pull him away from the Time Lord, although he couldn't move from the spot on his own. Sam lowered him to sit sprawled on the floor with a warning.

"Do not try anything. I will shoot you again if I have to."

Dean sneered back. "Bite me."

Sam didn't reply, he was too busy hovering over the Time Lord, who leaned against the side of the console, coughing.

"Are you OK?"

"Don't worry, Sam," The Doctor replied, his voice still hoarse, although he managed a wry smile. "I've done worse. Much worse. I'll be fine. Do whatever you have to. And know if you need me, I'm here."

"Thanks," Sam sighed. "I guess I'll get him out to the car. Which is, uh, going to be 'fun,' though, since he can't walk with the bullet in him. And he can't be trusted to behave with it out..."

...

…

It's not the same, Sam told himself, staring down the dark road as he drove, the silent form of Dean and his demon hunched passive-aggressive in the passenger's seat. It wasn't the same… Or at least, it doesn't have to be. I could do the purification process differently. The fact he has the Mark makes it different. The magic is different… The weight the potential variables carried, and what it would mean messing one up made him want to bury his face in his hands again, but he couldn't, not without losing control and wrecking the car, which Dean, the real Dean, would kill him for. The thought a wreck made him think of it all going away for good. Maybe it was possible, if Death would go through on the deal he'd tried to make last time, and keep him dead…maybe someday when it happened it wouldn't be so bad. Except right now, he had things to do, a cure to make. And if it worked… Dean would need his help to put things back together. If the cure worked…

He pushed the 'if' from his mind. It had to work. There was no other way…

….

The Doctor stood at the console, having left Canton to go to sleep in a bedroom on the other side of the Tardis. He flipped around monitor for the spectral energy recordings, curiosity getting the better of him as he considered that the energy readings might be convertible into a sort of video. After a few moments of toying with the settings of the readings, he had what he wanted; a sort of grainy, gray picture of the interior of the Tardis.

He set the timestamp to a half hour before, and watched what transpired, fast forwarding past the boring bits of him talking to Sam to watch Dean and Canton. He froze the image when he saw Canton begin to fall. Pausing, he frowned as he tried to zoom in, but whatever happened took place below the range of the input span of the device.

Sighing, the Doctor roved through the angles to look for one that might help explain it. Flipping through them, however, he stopped on an image of Sam holding the book, expression dire. He zoomed it in, the words he saw making him feel alive with the urgent crackle of emergency.

"Oh, don't do it Sam," he breathed, fumbling with the controls as he started her engine.

…

Sam tried not to let the words his brother's body spouted at him hold. He tried, but it didn't work. He found himself staring at the concrete floor of the dungeon room in the bunker, fighting not to let go of the little resolve he held. Dean had to be cured….

"You heard me. We all have demons. Especially you. I mean, I'm just finally owning it, yknow? I'm not running from it anymore. And you can either face that, or keep hiding. " Dean shrugged, his voice frank as he stared back up at his brother from the chair.

"I don't—" Sam began, but broke off at the distinctive screeching that shattered the air, an exasperated look twisting his features. Him again, he thought bitterly.

"Don't try anything," he warned, pointing to his brother with an angel blade as he turned away, making his way back across the dungeon toward the source of the sound, dropping the blade into a sheath on the wall as he walked.

In the hallway, he found it, the giant blue box, its door snapping open briskly as the tired-looking Time Lord stumbled out.

"What do you want?" He spat the words.

"Sam," The Doctor gushed, ignoring his harsh tone.

"Yeah?" He responded, the annoyance he felt showing plainly on his face and in his voice.

"Sam, if you're doing what I think you're doing, if this cure is like what you said would complete the Trials, then please, please, don't." The Doctor murmured, his eyes earnest.

"What? Cure my brother of being a monster? Really—" Sam's voice dripped derision.

"No, you've said it yourself. I saw for myself a bit of what the book said, and what it says sounds altogether too much like do what you said would kill you." The Doctor protested.

"Kill me? Since when are you an expert on the physics of magic and this universe?" Sam scoffed.

"And if you aren't concerned enough for yourself, consider it could quite possibly kill him, as well," The Doctor pressed, shaking his head. "I shudder to think, for the rest of your world, of the consequences -"

"Consequences? My brother is a demon! He's sitting there talking insanity—"

"What?" Dean shouted through the door. "That just maybe we're not all the scum of the earth? Funny, you're so busy to trying to 'save' me, you don't care if I want to be, or if I'll even survive the process!"

"Look! Can't you tell he's not thinking clearly? Dean's not himself right now, and this is not his choice to make. It's mine, and I want my brother back." Sam spoke earnestly, turning back to the Doctor, shuddering as he attempted to keep himself upright by hugging the wall.

"Sam, I'm afraid you don't seem to be willing to acknowledge—" The Doctor began, but was cut off.

"No. I know. I know Dean, I know what he would want and I know what our father would have wanted, and him, being a demon? Him trying to kill you? That is _not_ it."

"You've got me there. But tell the truth, you're willing to die to save me?" Dean's voice was mocking, cutting through the chill of the air.

"If that's what it comes to, yeah." He nodded. "It's not going to happen like that. I read and reread the book, this ritual is distinct—"

"Oh, come on Sam. Cut the crap. You're just telling yourself that load of crap so you can do this. It's already starting, you're dying. Now, you may be the biggest damn pain in the ass I've ever encountered, but you're my brother. And I know you-" Dean began.

"Just…be quiet. You aren't talking your way out of this one—" Sam blurted the words between gasps for breath.

"Out of what? You killing yourself? Really, because that's such an awful freaking thing for a big brother to do," Dean snarked.

"You don't get it, Dean!" Sam sputtered.

"Get what? That I don't want you dead? Huh? You think I'm some horrible creature—you'll barely even look at me! But you're willing to die to save me? Well, I'm telling you, Sammy, I am not willing to let that happen—"

"Shut up," Sam admonished, stumbling towards his brother, where he gripped the arm of the chair to steady himself, producing the syringe with shaking hands which he plunged again into his brother's neck.

"Ack," Dean muttered, making a face as the blood was forced into his artery, his grimace falling into a stuporous, open-mouthed catatonia as the effects of the blood took hold, his head lolling off to the side momentarily as he lost consciousness.

"Come on, Dean, I know you can do it," Sam murmured weakly, coughing into his fist as he moved with great effort back to the table where he had the blood drawing equipment set up.

He turned startled at a noise, seeing with alarm that Dean had begun to convulse, his eyes which rolled back in their sockets, turning demonic black again, the chains at his wrists rattling mightily in the dank room.

Sam watched tearfully, staggering a step forward as a concerned Doctor took him by the shoulder.

"Sam! Sam—"

The words died in Sam's ears as the world faded away to darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: If you gross out easily, just be forewarned there's blood in this chapter.

Reply to Insert Name Here's questions: First, thanks for the input. It's a lot more fun writing with reviews. And yes, I know, awful cliffhangers. I've had an awful lot of fun with the twists in this one. lol I don't know how long this will be exactly, but my doc on my computer full of planning and scene fragments is already at 30,000 words, with plenty more plot left to fill out. And I'm playing with the idea of a sequel to this, too. Yes, Sam's very cold to Dean in this, since he's extremely frustrated with his behavior (trying to kill the Doctor and Canton, just for being annoying!) and willing to do whatever he believes it will take to bring him back. He does love his brother and wants what's best, which in his experience is not being a demon, for starters. Except...Dean has other ideas. (If you haven't guessed, I loved Demon!Dean and wanted to write something with him in it.) This chapter also marks quite a turning point in the story. I hope you enjoy.

...

The Doctor caught Sam as he fell, grabbing him by the shoulders to lower him gently to the floor.

The Time Lord probed Sam's neck frantically for a pulse. Not finding one, he pulled out the sonic and began scanning him up and down, mind racing to figure out what was happening as the readings warbled and blipped out in front of him.

"No, no….no, that can't be right. That's impossible," he muttered, giving the screwdriver a whack with his hand. "Alive, dead, alive, dead... Pick one! This is impossible…." He studied it a bit more. "No, no, not impossible. Only in my universe. Different universe, different rules. Augh! I'm thick, much too thick for this… different rules…. Why don't the different universes come with a manual?!"

He looked up when he heard a noise, a cough from the chair Dean sat.

"Oh, good, good, at least you're still with us," The Doctor murmured, scratching his head as he put the sonic away. "Good, alive Dean…or…Demon Dean….Bad?..."

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean muttered weakly, his eyes peeling open slowly as his fit ended to see his brother lying on the floor. "Goddamnit."

"I'm so, so sorry—" The Doctor began, looking from Dean to Sam where he lay crumpled on the floor.

"Cut to the chase." Dean interrupted bitterly, spitting a frothy mixture of saliva and blood over his shoulder from the convulsions, stretching away the spasming of his jaw as he spoke. "He's dying. Because of me."

"That's a bit of a harsh way of putting it, but—"

"Yeah, no. He's dying, and he's gonna be completely gone in a couple minutes, let alone if you try to finish curing me, which you are NOT going to do, do you understand me—"

"No, I wasn't going to suggest that," The Doctor said softly, his voice earnest.

"Oh, so what's your big plan, huh?" Dean snarked, heavy lines forming around his nose as he frowned.

"I was truly hoping he'd listen to reason, although that seems to have failed—"

"No shit," Dean replied, "But what then? Huh? You're gonna let him lie there and die and keep me chained up here, for what, exactly?"

"No, no, I have to think. I get so thick sometimes… You're his brother, he's dying from trying to cure you with his blood like the book said, and I probably shouldn't trust you since you're a demon—"

"Yeah, Doc, I'm a wild card, alright," Dean made a face that was as much a grimace as a grin. "But if you let me out of here, I can promise you, I'll do my damnedest to save him. And you can go back to your own little universe, OK? Coz between the two of us, I'm damn sure I'm the one that's closest to knowing what to do."

"Is that so?" The Doctor asked solemnly. "Because per my understanding, demons aren't the most trustworthy—"

"Damnit, let me out!" Dean snapped, his voice turning into a ragged yell. "It's easy. Just use your sonic thing on the cuffs. The bullet's out already, and more importantly, he's dying! You can try calling Cas, but he ain't coming—Hey, Castiel!" Dean shouted. "Got your ears on, you feathered freak? Now would be a helluva time for you to show up!"

The Doctor and Dean looked up for a few moments before Dean scoffed.

"See? He's not coming. It's just you and me now, Time Lord. And there ain't a damned thing you can do. This isn't your universe, doesn't work by your rules, but I know them. And out of anybody here, I'm the one who has a clue how to save him_. So let me out_!"

"I only hope I don't regret this," The Doctor breathed, casting a glance at Sam as he pulled his Sonic from his jacket pocket, Dean's shackles falling open under its warbling blue pulse.

"You won't." Dean muttered, standing from the chair he had been chained to. "Get the syringe ready," he commanded, which the Doctor obliged, lifting it from the table where Sam had set it, a worried look on his face.

"What are you—" He inquired, but was cut off by Dean's brusque response.

"No time for that! Now, shut up, I've gotta find the artery—" Dean muttered as he stripped off his belt, cinching it around his upper arm to hold it tight in his teeth. "Syringe. Gimme," he muttered past the belt.

The Doctor handed it to him reluctantly, watching as Dean stabbed the needle into his own arm, pulling the plunger to reveal whorls of dark red fluid that gushed to fill it.

"OK, hold that," he told the Doctor, who complied wordlessly, holding the syringe in place in Dean's arm, his eyes betraying the doubt he didn't verbalize.

Dean grabbed the stopper in the syringe, eying the Doctor "Now, hold it tight—" as he yanked it until it came out the back, along with it the trickling stream of Dean's blood as it flowed from his arm.

"Dean—" The Doctor exclaimed, stepping back.

"Shut up, ET," he snapped as he frowned, kneeling over Sam as he held the syringe in his arm with one hand, ineffectually trying to aim the drip of his blood at at his brother's face.

"Shit," Dean muttered. "Get his mouth open!"

"What? Are you sure—"

"Do it!"

The Doctor relented, stooping down, to hold Sam's head so that his mouth was open enough for Dean to direct the trickle of blood into it.

They sat likewise for a moment, the Doctor looking between the two brothers with a concerned gaze.

"What exactly is this supposed to do to him, might I ask?" The Doctor inquired, his voice cautious.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said gruffly, focusing on Sam, who remained pale and motionless in the Doctor's grasp.

"Damn it, Sammy! Come on!" He pleaded, his voice rasping bitterly as he

The noise of a phone ringing from Sam's shirt pocket broke the quiet.

"I'll get that I suppose," The Doctor said as he reached into Sam's pocket with one hand, removing the phone while keeping his head supported with the other arm.

"Hello, this is Sam's phone." The Doctor blurted.

"What? Who is this?" Castiel asked on the other end.

"Ah, Castiel, is it? That's what the caller ID said. Anyways, I'm The Doctor, and he's unavailable. Can I take a message?"

"Doctor? Is Sam with you?" Cas asked.

"Yes, but he's rather _unwell_ at the moment." The Doctor made a face as he spoke, biting his lip.

"What's going on?" Alarm filled Castiel's voice.

"I'm not entirely certain you'd approve," The Doctor said earnestly, shrugging at Dean, who gave him a harsh look.

"Let me speak to Sam," The angel demanded.

"I'm terribly sorry, but he really can't speak, you see-" The Doctor replied, frowning at Dean who shook his head, making an exasperated face.

"Screw this. Put him on speaker with me," Dean snapped.

"Wait, Dean? What's going on—" Cas protested as The Doctor switched it to speaker.

"Sam tried to cure me, no thanks to you for not trying to stop him, you feathered jackass. And now, what do you think? It's completing the trials, and it's killing him," Dean's reply was low, bitter.

"Dean? What are you trying to do?" The angel asked gravely.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing? I'm saving him the one way I know how." He replied, his voice raw.

"But the trials, they're irreversible—"

"They're not done yet. They've been taking the 'impurity' out of him and that was killing him. But screw that. I'm not gonna sit back and _let him die_. I'm putting it back in."

"You mean you're—"

"Yes. Yes, I am. He's getting plenty of demon blood, from me, right now. And I don't give a damn what you think, or what you think you're gonna do, because he is my brother. And he is not dying, not _again_, _not on account of me."_

"Dean—"

"Shut up, you son of a bitch. I'm not done. If you try to stop me, I swear, I will kill you—"

"Dean—"

"What, Cas?!" He blurted, face twisting with grief.

"I was calling to tell him," Cas broke off, momentarily, coughing.

"Tell him what?!" Dean shouted.

"That I need his help," Cas choked out.

"You… what?" Dean sputtered.

"I'm dying, Dean."

"Cas—"

"I wish I'd been there, I wish I'd done more. I wish…so many things, Dean, but none of that matters anymore. I wasn't there in time to stop you, or to stop Sam, or…end things if you couldn't be cured. I—I just hope you understand, really, the consequences of what you're doing."

"Well, excuse me for saving my brother's life."

"You are _undoing_ _everything we ever fought for_. W-What would Bobby, or—or-your father say?"

"Really? You're bringing them into this?" Dean laughed bitterly. "_They're_ not here. They're taking it easy somewhere in that dump your crowd calls a heaven. While I'm down here, trying to deal with this crap fest they left us behind in. So don't you dare tell me what we've fought for. Guess what? I'm still fighting. So what are you going to do about it, if you're so opposed to it? Just lay down and die?"

"I don't have a choice, Dean." Cas said weakly.

"Who do you think you're kidding? There's _always_ a choice. And if I cared anymore, I'd tell say you were making the wrong one. But y'know what? I don't. I don't give a rat's ass what happens to you, Castiel. I truly hope you have a shitty afterlife." Dean spouted derisively into the phone.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Cas said hoarsely.

"Yeah, sure you are, you douche," Dean snarked.

"Goodbye, Dean." Castiel's voice was hollow, empty. With that, the line clicked off.

"Are you certain this was a wise decision?" The Doctor finally spoke, his voice shifting uneasily as he turned the phone off, replacing it in Sam's pocket with one hand. Dean didn't reply, staring grimly at his dying brother's face instead for a few long moments before looking up at the Time Lord, letting his eyes turn black for shock value, although he was somewhat disappointed to see it lacked the desired effect on the Doctor, who didn't seem to register it at all.

"Shut up, ET. Now here's what's gonna happen," Dean began.

"What makes you so certain I'll be cooperating with you," The Doctor asked. "Clearly even your friends don't condone your actions, and I myself am more than doubtful of your motives—"

"Don't do it for me, then." Dean said gruffly. "Do it for _him._" Dean nodded at Sam. "Up the stairs, in the closet at the end of the hallway, there's a medical kit. This isn't up for discussion. Put his head in my lap, keeping his mouth open, and go get it."

The Doctor nodded silently, his expression betraying the unease he felt as he did as directed.

"Good. You get it. OK, medical kit, go!" Dean yelled.

The Doctor was back in a minute or so, the kit in hand.

"Open it, get out the needles and the tubing," Dean instructed.

"Why do you have IV tubing? This isn't a hospital—" The Doctor began, but Dean shushed him.

"Fewer questions, more working," he reprimanded. The Doctor did as directed, handing him the needle and tubing.


	22. Chapter 22

"Sammy. Wake up." Dean shouted now, flicking his brother's face lightly with the back of his hand. "Sammy!"

A gasp for breath rushed in and out as Sam surged back to life now, jerking half upright in the passenger's seat, gagging as he pulled the bitter, burning slime of a tube out of his throat with an impossibly heavy hand.

"D—Dean?" he rasped.

"I'm here." Dean said, "Now you just lie back, OK? You were yelling and crap in your sleep, and, well, that's really annoying, is all."

"Wh—where are we?" He choked out, his tongue clumsy in his mouth, which still tasted strangely of a burning metallic, as he tried to make sense of the scrambled remains of his memory.

"We're on our way to Vegas," Dean said, staring out what Sam now understood to be the windshield of the Impala. They were driving... "You've been in bad shape for a few days now. But relax. We're gonna stop at a truck stop soon, and you can get out and get something to eat if you're up to it."

"Wh—"

"What?" Dean said brusquely. "I already told ya, man, you were out for a few days."

"What—what happened?" Sam pressed.

"Oh, yeah, well, I wouldn't expect you to remember too much right now. Those Djinn nearly had you there."

"Djinn? But, I could have sworn…" He trailed off, the memory of a deep, burning pain in his wrists, yelling, bangs, gunshots, and blinding lights, and the image of a huge blue box all blurring in his mind.

"You sure? Because if that was Djinn, then that was a really weird dream to have."

"Yeah, they seemed to be a different version, maybe a different form of their elixir stuff. I dunno. I'm not the Sandman. Or maybe you were fighting it this time. Second time's the charm, right?" Dean dismissed Sam's question with a jerk of his shoulder. "You barely came out alive, though. So just chill. "

They pulled in under the glare of streetlights, which pierced his vision, blinding at first, Sam closed his eyes to allow his vision to adjust. When he opened them again, he could tolerate it a little better.

"Yeah, so you comin' in or what?" Dean asked.

"No, I don't, I think I'll stay here for now," Sam replied, shaking his head.

"Alright. Want anything?"

"Yeah…I guess…." Sam mused. "A little something."

"OK. I'll getcha something."

"Yeah, that's good," Sam mumbled as Dean stalked off into the gas station, the driver's side door thunking shut heavily behind him.

Sam pulled the lever to set the seat up a little, grimacing as he did so, from the swaths of pain that wracked his body.

Blinking again to allow his eyes to adjust more, he stared at his hands.

There were deep bruises, burns, really, about the wrists, like some sort of handcuffs had dug in.

And then up and down the left arm, he realized, were needle tracks. Going in at the radial artery, he thought, groaning as he pressed his fingertips to the large bruises that outlined the needle punctures.

But…Djinn, he thought absently. Their IVs were far more numerous, went in and stayed in with tape to keep the ends secure so the blood could be tapped….

He frowned, examining the marks again, reasoning from the placement and angle of the needle marks, it looked almost like _he'd_ done it himself.

He stiffly extended his right arm, searching it up and down for any signs of IV like the Djinn would have put in. There were the rings of bruising, burn-like around the wrist, but nothing above or below that. As eaten up as his left arm was, there were none on the right. Only on the inside of left arm. Which…. Well, either I'm overanalyzing, he thought, or this just doesn't make sense. Or…or probably both, he assuaged himself.

Dean says it's OK. Dean…. He startled in his seat as mind flashed to an image of him, first blade in hand, eyes a cold black, flecks of the brilliant red of blood staining his face. He shivered a little as he squeezed his eyes shut and open again a few times, trying to chase the image away. No, he thought. Dean was not a demon. Whatever this was, he reassured himself, had to be something to do with the Djinn.

The driver's side door opening startled him from his thoughts. Dean was back with their food. He pushed a drink bottle towards Sam, who took it with shaking hands. Sam opened it, drinking quickly. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he had it open in his hands.

Pausing as Dean handed him a sandwich, Sam took the moment to speak up.

"Dean? What's been going on? How'd we get here?"

His reply was unintelligible, muttered dismissively past bites of the burger he was busy inhaling.

"I know it's probably nothing, but it keeps bothering me. I keep thinking, all the needle marks, there's no way this is from a Djinn…." Sam murmured as he slowly unwrapped his food. At the moment, the worry superseded any hunger he felt.

"I got you in the car after I found you passed out from some Djinn, alright?" Dean said.

"Yeah, but what I remember does not add up to that. How'd we get here, what were we doing? Because I don't remember any Djinn—" Sam pressed, giving in to the fact that Dean probably wasn't going to reveal any more information than he could get away with. This in mind, he started to eat.

"What, what me? What have I done? I've saved you, damnit." Dean snarked, laughing darkly as he shook his head.

"Yeah, I get it, but what's with this? I need a straight answer, Dean." He persisted.

"You were dying, Sammy. And I saved you, and that's all you need to know."

"Yeah, but how? At what cost, huh? A deal with another demon—"

"No, no such thing. No deals, no catches, I just got to you in time is all." Dean swatted the air with an upturned hand as if to wave away the questions.

"Oh…"

A few minutes later as he finished eating, Sam fiddled with his pocket surreptitiously, glancing at Dean, who was obliviously digging into his fries. Sighing, Sam reached for the small bottle of iron filings he kept in his pocket.

He hated himself for even thinking of using it to test Dean, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was just not right.

Sighing, he opened it, letting the iron filings slide down around the paper from his sandwich.

"Thanks," he mumbled to Dean, smiling, trying to hide the tension that was growing inside him as he passed the crumpled paper back to his brother.

Sam braced for something, what he wasn't entirely sure.

"Eh, no problem, dude," he returned, shrugging as he got out of the car to throw away the trash.

Sam breathed again as his brother left the car, the pit in his stomach easing a little. Whatever…whatever this was, he decided, Dean was still himself.


	23. Chapter 23

Sam was running down a path, chasing a werewolf, gun in hand, when Cas stumbled past him, pleading, "Sam, don't—" He turned away now, and there was a mirror beside him in the darkened brambles of the forest, in it a snarling doppleganger of his younger self, blood smeared about his mouth, muttering to him, "You don't know, now do you? You don't know what Dean is. Or what you're becoming—"

"Hey, Sam!" Dean's voice shattered the darkness, his eyes snapping open to let in the blinding sun of the desert morning as it poured in through the windshield of the Impala, which was currently parked on a pull-off on the side of a rural highway.

"Wh—"

"You were dreaming again. Talking in your sleep. Getting real annoying, man."

"Oh, uh, ok…." Sam trailed off.

"What time is it? I can't see the clock—"

"Oh, that. It's 9:00." Dean replied, moving the box of tapes from where they had been stacked, occluding Sam's view of the clock.

"Wait…but….how long have we been driving? Because….last I remember it was eight in the evening. Didn't we stop last night?" Sam asked, disorientation wrinkling his brow.

"Yeah, that's coz it was," Dean replied, shrugging nonchalantly as he stared out through the windshield.

"What, we drove all night? You need to stop and rest a little. I mean, we don't have to get anywhere that fast, do we?"

"Nah, I'm fine, man," Dean returned.

"You sure?" Sam pressed, concern filling his voice.

"Says the dude still getting over having his brains rattled by Djinn," Dean scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"I mean, either I've totally lost it, or you drove all night."

"Nah, you've not lost it. We did stop, at another truck stop for awhile. You were out cold so I figured just let you sleep, and I got a little shuteye myself."

"Oh….ok…."

"Don't bother with that," Dean muttered. "I'll get you something hot in a little bit when we find somewhere."

"Eh, whatever we have's fine. I'm starving," Sam replied, turning to reach into the box in the back seat that usually contained some form of road food.

What he found as he turned to reach made him shudder.

A mostly empty IV bag lay on the seat, its interior and the tubing which projected from it still stained orangeish yellow from the plasma of blood.

"Dean? I need to know, _right now, what is this_?" Sam held it up,

"It's blood."

"From?" Sam prodded, tone dead serious.

"A donor," Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

"Where the hell'd it go?"

"Vampire informant, old friend of Benny's. He needed some, so, I figured, what the heck? Snagged it from a bloodbank."

"I wish I could believe you," Sam said, voice grim, "But this has no markings on it. If this was red cross, they'd have at least a blood type on it, probably an expiration date too. So try again. Where _the hell_ did this come from?"

"It came from me, alright?!" Dean snapped. "It was my blood, my blood, Sammy."

"Your blood? What for?" He frowned, shaking his head at the strange line of reasoning Dean was following.

"It was for you, jackass." He muttered grudgingly, his face falling from irritation to exasperation.

"But we don't have the same blood type—" Sam's expression changed slowly from puzzlement to one of anger. "Oh, my god….how have I been so stupid?" he mumbled slowly. "The dreams….the….oh, oh, …."

"What? Now don't you go freaking out on me—" Dean reprimanded, giving him a look.

"Freaking out? This is so far beyond freaking out. Those weren't just dreams, were they, Dean? They were real. There were no Djinn. That box I kept seeing…that was the Doctor, wasn't it? And these bruises and needle marks—they're not like what Djinn would do. They're like I was taking blood from myself—" He broke off for a moment, shaking his head.

"And the last time I did that, I was curing Crowley. So, please, tell me this isn't what I'm thinking it is, because I've had some pretty freaking awful dreams. Ones where you—" He choked on his words a little as he spoke, the dread at the growing realization forming a knot in his stomach.

"Where I'm a demon?" Dean interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact as he finished the thought for Sam.

"Yeah. But, how do you couldn't know that, except-" Sam asked, his voice shaking just a little as he inhaled through is nose, trying to steel himself for whatever came next.

"Well," Dean said slowly, looking down for a moment. "It's pretty simple."

He raised his gaze again, what Sam saw smashing through him like lightening.

"I'm a demon, Sammy." His eyes were the cold black of nothingness.

"Oh, no," Sam muttered, his eyes narrowing, burning with anger as he returned his brother's empty gaze. "I don't give a shit who the hell you are, but you better get the hell out of my brother, you disgusting—"

"No, dimwit," Dean muttered, blinking so that his eyes changed back to their usual stormy green. "_I _am a demon. It's just 100% me in here, OK? The Mark turned me, not Crowley. So you can chill the hell out about that. And by the way, I didn't totally appreciate the iron yesterday. I mean I'm high enough powered it doesn't do much, but really. I'd hoped I could hold off on this just a little longer."

"On what?" Sam's voice bit back, the raw edge of steel in it hazed with the hollow tone of betrayal.

"On this," Dean sighed. "I didn't want to do this until you were a little more stable."

"Do what?!" Sam shouted, his stiff limbs recoiling, instinctively searching for something, anything that he could use to fight. But there was nothing…

"Explain this. I knew you were gonna freak, and you really don't need to do that in your condition, so really, just chill the hell out."

"Wait, wait, back up," Sam spat the words, his head spinning. "You're a demon, but you're you and you're…."

"What, not going on the ultimate 24/7 murder spree?" Dean scoffed, making an, 'I can't even' face at Sam.

"Y—yeah…" Sam shuddered, shaking his head, tearing through the glove box which he had ripped open without even realizing it in his frantic search for a weapon.

"Well, I try. Really, you think I'm going to all this trouble to kill you or something?"

Sam didn't reply, just giving Dean a frightened look that said it for him 'Well, are you?'

"I'm _not_ gonna kill you. I'm still me, dumbass. Maybe if your memory starts coming back a little more, you'll recall_ Crowley_ wanted me to kill you. But oh, what's this? You're still alive! Because _I saved you_."

"You mean—"

"Yes. I'm me. And no I wasn't gonna just let him get away with that, alright. See, and this's why I wanted to wait a while. Let you chill and get a little stronger before going there, but, the fact is, I need your cooperation. OK?"

"With what? I'm not making any deals—" Sam exhorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Damn it, Sammy! You won't listen. I'm not talking about deals. I don't expect anything from you, OK? Just shut up for a minute."

"No—no, Dean. I'm leaving—I'm—" He fumbled for the door handle, hands shaking.

"See, the thing is, you can't leave me," Dean said as he tilted his head to the side, smirking slightly.

"What?" Sam paused, the door creaking open.

"Have you noticed? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere. Besides, especially now, you're too weak. You wouldn't make it to the other side of the street without falling over. Go on, though, try to get up. It's not like I haven't scraped you up off the sidewalk before."

"No—no—" Sam shook his head. "I can't—I can't believe you did this-"

"Did what? Saved your ungrateful ass?"

"No, Dean! You're a freaking demon and you're—you're feeding me demon blood—you're—what, you're trying to bring back my powers—and—god—what the hell is going on? How the hell did we get here? Why don't you tell me, since I'm really…" Sam trailed off, swallowing hard as he looked Dean over. Outwardly, the man in the driver's seat had the same face, the same hands, the same everything of the brother he'd always depended on, except, now that was gone… He paused before continuing a moment, shaking his head as exhaustion and sorrow overwhelmed him. "_I really don't understand_."

"OK, that's fine," Dean murmured. "Just…chill a minute. Have some water, or something, before you make yourself sicker. I'll explain. " Dean grabbed a bottle from the cooler behind him in the back seat, holding it out to Sam, who shook his head, refusing to take it.

"Dude, what do you think I'm gonna poison you or something?" He snarked, rolling his eyes.

Sam 's reply was low, his voice empty. "Considering you've already been doing that with the blood, I really don't know what to think right now."

"Ugh, screw it. Screw it all," Dean spat the words, opening the water for himself, taking a few swallows before he began.

"OK, let's start at the beginning why don't we? I turned because of the Mark. You remember when I got that, right?"

"Yeah. I do," Sam said through gritted teeth, refusing to make eye contact.

"OK, so you know after that, Metatron killed me. I woke up in the bunker, left you a note and split. And, damn, man, I was doing great, _finally_ getting my crap together, when you started tailing me, you and the help of that Time Monkey and his henchman."

"Time Lord," Sam corrected, glaring stubbornly out the window. "He's a Time Lord, and actually trustworthy, unlike you—"

"Yeah, you hate me, I get it. Anyways, Crowley captured you and your alien friends, and called me back down to meet him at that dump of a place he's using as a hideout. Tried to torture you, was getting into asking me to kill you—like _that's_ ever gonna happen—" Dean scoffed at the suggestion.

"From where I'm sitting, that doesn't sound like an unreasonable question," Sam cut in, his sarcastic tone doing little to veil the underlying anxiety in his voice.

"Goddamn! Even if I was, why would I bother explaining it all before ganking you, huh? Anyways, after that, your Time Monkey burst back in and shot me. Just five more seconds though, and Crowley wouldn'ta been bothering anyone anymore."

"Well, that's good to know," Sam scoffed, "If that's so, at least you're not in cahoots with Crowley."

"Hell no!" Dean exclaimed.

"That is, if you're telling the truth—"

"I am, dumbass! For some insane reason, after you got free, you went all weird about curing me._ You_ bargained with Crowley to find out how, and let him go with the Blade as part of the deal-_which was really freaking stupid, by the way_—and you got the book he told you about."

"That's funny you say that like it's a bad thing," Sam returned, shaking his head. "Because if you really are you, you know that's nothing compared to what we've been through for each other."

"Yeah, well, you made a really crappy choice. Especially since I didn't need any of that 'cure' to start with. Oh, yeah, and the fact it damn near killed you."

"Killed me?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean for the first time in several minutes. His gaze was pinched, pained lines of concern contorting his forehead.

"Yeah. Apparently, the 'cure' for the Mark is the purified blood of the brother. And for some insane reason, you decided it was worth gambling your life on. Yknow, curing a demon, finishing the trials, killing yourself? Does that ring a bell? You were getting damn close to kicking it when ET came in, you went splat, and I talked him into letting me out so I could save you."

"And you did that how? By giving me your blood?" Sam asked, shaking his head.

"Yep. Reversed the 'purification' bullshit finishing the Trials was doing. End of story. You wake up right here, next to me, yesterday."

"If—if you're telling the truth, and that's a _really big_ if," Sam exhorted, "How am I supposed to trust you? And—_why_? Why are you doing this?"

Dean groaned. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm still me? Uh, what about our code words, huh? Poughkeepsie. Means drop everything and get ready for all hell to break lose." He looked at Sam, his expression expectant, a small smile forming as he iterated their code.

"Doesn't mean anything," Sam shook his head. "You—if that's really you—told Crowley about it."

"Fine_. Funky town_. How would I know that it means one of us in deep shit? Oh, that's right, I wouldn't_, unless I am who I say I am_."

"I guess," Sam muttered, his voice shaking. "But I still can't take that chance. Even if you're somehow still you, you're a demon and—"

"And what? I'm me. And so what if I'm a demon. I mean, what exactly are you gonna say is wrong with it?"

"God, Dean! Everything—"

"No, really. What's wrong with it? I'm just doing what I've always done. Taking care of you, am I right? If I was some horrible monster, why would I be doing that?"

"I don't know. Demons…are…twisted. You have some sort of plan—I don't know what, but—"

"Oh, I see. Because I need some sorta screwed up ulterior motive. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy. I mean, I get it, I'm a demon, no emotions, no loyalty, no nothing. I couldn't possibly be doing this because it's me, and this is what we do." The sarcasm in his voice was biting.

"I don't—"

"No, I'm not finished!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm not asking you to do anything except give me a freaking chance. Hell, not even that, if that's too much to ask. Right now, believe it or not, I'm more worried about you than I am me. You're not strong enough to be doing this right now. And-that's what I really care about, man. So, if you want to leave when you're able to, fine. Just give it a couple weeks. You won't survive doing that right now. "

Sam frowned, not replying as he gazed out the door for a few long, quiet moments. Then when he moved, he grunted, as he tried to stand, his legs weak beneath him.

"God, Sammy!" Dean leaned across the seat toward Sam, grabbing for his shoulder.

Sam resisted, ducking away out the door, clinging to the top of the Impala as he struggled to maintain altitude.

"Please man, don't do this. What do you think's gonna happen if you just stay here with me?" Dean said, getting out of his seat, coming around the front of the car as he spoke.

"I don't know," Sam replied breathily, frowning.

"No, you don't, because the answer—" Dean broke off as Sam let out a pained groan, crumpling to his knees as he lost his hold on the roof of the car.

He bent down over Sam, staring calmly into his brother's terrified face as he spoke.

"Because the answer is one you don't want to believe. But it's true. Nothing's gonna happen to you." Dean grunted, grabbing Sam's arm so that he could use it to hoist him towards a semblance of a standing position.

Although he wanted to, Sam realized, he was too weak to resist. He tried to snatch his arm away, but the movement was feeble, clumsy. He shut his eyes as he let Dean guide him back into the seat, as if the meager resistance could blot out the reality of what was happening.

"Here I am, scooping your ungrateful ass up off the pavement, again. And, I'll have you know, you're gonna hafta have that much more blood to make up for wasting your strength this. Which is not what you want, is it?"

Sam shook, as he slumped in the seat, the anger that grew inside him so violent it threatened to steal the air from his lungs. "No," he spat the words. "No. Dean, you aren't this—"

"You're wrong, Sammy," Dean returned, slamming the door shut as he turned away to get back to the driver's seat. "I am a demon, and I am your brother. Like it or not. And you do not just get to leave."


End file.
